


Remember to forget

by Kit_SummerIsle



Series: Prime Nights [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universes, Anal, Crossover, Golden Age, Incest, M/M, Multi, Oral, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prostitution, Seekers, Toys, Trine - Freeform, dp, dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-03-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 09:28:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 34,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kit_SummerIsle/pseuds/Kit_SummerIsle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is the continuation of All that is gold does not glitter. As it happened before, my simple kinkmeme fic grew a plot and said plot kidnapped me to write it into a full AU world where war never happened, instead Optimus Prime and Lord High Protector Megatron jointly rule Cybertron and prolong the Golden Age indefinitely. Here, the events that started in the previous fic get a bit more elaborated - but the fic retains its sticky-slashy-kinkmeme-ish nature too, so there will be plenty of action that way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Megatron

It was nearly a vorn before Optimus could forget about that incident. Even back then, I couldn’t fully understand why it shook him up so much. True, it was the first time the Matrix reacted thus, true, that little mech was the first ever Prime Candidate I saw – not counting Optimus himself _before_ , of course – and true that I never felt the Matrix and its damned little quirks the way he did. Still, his reaction to the whole affair seemed out of proportion to me. So what if that mech was his possible successor? It didn’t mean that he would just deactivate to give way to the next Prime, or that the Matrix would leave him. Such a thing never happened before and unfortunately lacking hard facts or even just some research about the slagging artefact, we were limited in knowledge of what previously happened. Or didn’t happen. 

Optimus of course denied that he was afraid of either. The real problem was that he refused to elaborate on exactly _what in the nether Pit_ made him so upset then. He wouldn’t even touch the matter in our bond, no matter how much I insisted. His incoherent babbling straight after the spark merge with the little mech was what haunted my recharge dreams for a long time still – but those scant few images and ideas made no sense. Omega lock – whatever that was - and Unicron, immortal sparks and a being that was me but not quite and I wished it wasn’t, the little mech taking the Matrix and shattering it… it looked like an apocalypse, only it made no sense at all. 

If any of it was any more coherent, decipherable or understandable, I could have planned or devised a defence against such an event that threatened him so – for his death was unavoidable if the Matrix was being free of him, even though the images did not show that dreaded event. After all that was my job, to protect him… and Cybertron. It was frustrating not to be able to prevent what looked the future and held so much destruction. 

Of course I contemplated deactivating that little mech, for he seemed to play an important role in those cryptic images. I almost did it just for the pain he caused to Optimus back then. He stopped me from it. Of course my brother knew what I was going to do… we know each other fairly well, being siblings and bondmates for gigavorns. For all my influence on him, Optimus would never kill an innocent mech – and for all his influence on me, I would never hesitate to do it if I felt it necessary. We pretty well complement each other in this. We are compatible in everything.

Well, in everything, except the berth. There, we fare badly and it is no secret. Too dominant, too powerful, too much spike-mechs that we both are. Our interfaces are more desperate battles than anything pleasurable and end up in one of us losing, submitting… and we both take losing rather badly. But it is no solution to stick to spark-merge all the time as our interface drive is far too strong to be appeased by petting and touch to overload. So we are both driven to spike the other, both fight till our last ergs to avoid taking it in the valve and when I manage to subdue Optimus it is amidst an energon-soaked berth and he is in a foul mood for orns afterwards. 

True, I’m even worse in those fortunately rare occasions he wins. Starscream, my SIC always chooses to go on offworld missions when he gets whiff of it and I can just see that his staff dearly wishes to do the same. I guess the first time, when I tore off his wing for a flippant quip at my expense left a deep mark in him, even though I try to control myself better since and he was compensated nicely for the injury. I even apologized to him, though it was clearly at Optimus’s insistence and not very honest-sounding.

And so we need these mechs to stick between us and spike to our spark’s content and play out all the fantasies we have, when our interfacing frustration reaches an explosive level. But these last orns… we had none. Not a single romp in a vorn, only each other and our berth-battles. No matter my assurances, no matter the sheer improbability of such thing repeating, to have not one but two Prime Candidates in our berth and on Cybertron itself… Optimus didn’t want to hear about it. And we are bonded, so I couldn’t avail myself on the side, not without him. 

First it got frustrating, then it got annoying, then it got itching and became so serious that Jazz and Starscream jointly begged Optimus to give up his foolish refusal and take any mech to berth before we both exploded and did something we would deeply regret. They even offered themselves, both of them, separately, a thing which oddly touched me on some level. Jazz, while not a minibot, is several frame sizes below us and interfacing with the both of us would probably cause him serious injuries. When we get going, neither of us is very good in self-control…

Starscream… well, I’ve even considered his offer, when he made it. Physically compatible, aesthetically pleasing, just the right size for us, and the Seeker, despite being his people’s Winglord, is as much a sub as they came. But I still refused his offer, because last vorn, after some futile megavorns Thundercracker finally gathered enough courage to court him and recently became Starscream’s Second Wing – an occasion as I understand deeply symbolic and important among Seekers. Since then, we both noticed Sunstorm gathering up the same kind of courage – he is not yet there, but hopefully my picky Air Commander will have a full Trine at last. 

So at this time accepting his offer would be to frag up this delicate balance they have going, mess with a still new trine-bond, disturb the courting process and generally make a mess of their processors. No, thought his offer was enticing and I appreciated that he’d made it, it wouldn’t be _right_ to accept it, as Optimus is so fond of saying. I’ve even contemplated a professional pleasurebot, but Optimus abhors them deeply and I’m not fond of them much either – we aren’t yet that desperate.

Especially, as lately I see Optimus’s protests weakening and these orns his recharge is rarely ever disturbed by those fluxes he had so often after that mech, Hot Rod. If everything goes well, he will finally accept that one traumatic _accident_ with the Matrix doesn’t mean that the practice was wrong. It worked well for gigavorns after all and no mech, not even our playthings complained. I dare any shrinks to find a better solution to our problem – Rung never could and we don’t have a better expert than him. 

So, though my patience grows thin, I still employ what’s left of it and continue to work on Optimus. I know that others do too, though not many knows the exact reason. Prowl does, but the Praxian has little enough emotions left to fully understand Optimus’s predicament. Others, the courtiers, lesser officers and ministers only see the mounting tension in us and the total lack of the usual night-cycle entertainment for far too long. Their occasional meddling is amusing and annoying at the same time.

Optimus never goes for his solitary drives these orns, not even disguised, because he has far too many mechs trying to throw themselves on him… if it wasn’t so annoying I would even applaud the effort on our behalf. I’ve never seen so many eager to frag, compatible and beautiful mechs _‘accidentally’_ getting in our way on supposedly secret drives or flights that no mech was supposed to know about. But the result is not what they hope for. Instead of finding a night-entertainment, even our stress-relieving drives and flights are disrupted, not giving the solitude we occasionally require. 

Though I’m satisfied to see that after my last _roaring-shouting-breaking things and threatening mechs_ rage sobered up the court in this regard. It was only half staged, the main part of it a honest to Primus explosion. Neither of us reacts well to meddling and very few mechs can meddle in such a subtle way as to be unnoticeable until the satisfying end result. Like Jazz. Ohh, I know that our dearest saboteur is working on a solution and that is one knowledge I can live with. There is no way he didn’t discover the secret – we didn’t tell him, but he wouldn’t even expect to. He has his ways of gathering information, some of which even I admire and he would feel insulted at being told outright. He likes to find out things for himself, just like Prowl likes to get information on encrypted datapads. It is entertainment for them. And Jazz truly knows how to be subtle.


	2. Optimus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The way I describe Optimus and Megatron interfacing can be taken as very slight dub-con. They are bondmates and love each other, but since both are spike-mechs, if they interface one of them has to be the bottom. That's why they fight first - the one who wins gets to spike the other. So it is slightly dub-connish in nature.

Megatron behaves again like I’m delicate. I’m sure he doesn’t mean it so, but it is still damned annoying. Especially as he is particularly bad in walking on tiptoes around any mech. It is almost funny sometimes. My big, bad Lord Protector, a fearsome and awe-inspiring military model that he is – and he is softening his tone, avoids sensitive topics, refrains from glitching Prowl or Red Alert… and I’m fairly sure he let me win the last two times we fought. That last one is as unimaginable as it is insulting – true that he wins most of the time we spar, but I can occasionally get better of him without him throwing the match.

It’s not like I’m weaker than him. I made sure that for every upgrade he had I got one too, matching in strength and agility. He only has his flight mod that I have no wish to equate – I’m as much a ground mech as we, Cybertronians get to be and the idea of me flying is something that abhors not only Starscream but myself too. But when we spar Megatron never use that advantage so it doesn’t bother me. Much. He has experience and training on his side – after all he is older by some millenia and trained as military for his whole function, while I was intended to be only an archivist.

But my brother never held back when he trained me. He gave me the knowledge and tricks freely, wanting me to be able to defend myself even if he wasn’t there to do so. He trained me as rigorously and ruthlessly as he trained every mech in our guard, accepting no excuses and heeding none of the fearful medics who often had to repair me. Us. Since I became Prime and equal to him in stature too our matches just became even more serious – he can use his full strength now without fearing to deactivate me, his brother. It is less training these orns as equals sparring, though he still retains some edge and consequently wins more often than I do.

For me to win twice in a row is unlikely, unless he is really, and I mean really preoccupied and I know of nothing that would cause it lately. But it puts him into a dark mood that never bodes well for his staff. I knew for a fact that last orn Starscream declared that a singularly important scientific survey was necessary, picked up Skyfire from his lab – by the wing, no mean feat for somemech half the size of the shuttle - left poor Thundercracker in charge and disappeared into the galaxy next over. To do that in the middle of that complicated business that trining means for a Seeker, my brother must have been in a really foul mood. I think I’ve never seen Seeker wings hung so low than Sunstorm’s when he heard the news.

But his preoccupation, or letting me win meant that I got to spike him, so I didn’t complain. I needed it, I know. We both need it, but this is one thing we cannot give to each other for all the love, the bond and everything we share. We have to take it by force, and I do mean force. Our battles worry my staff – Megatron’s not so much, for which I am eternally envious – but especially the medics. Fortunately even Prowl learned over the vorns that lectures don’t work on the Prime. Ratchet hasn’t, but then he is… well, he is Ratchet. The only mech in existence that my brother recognizes as being even more stubborn than himself. I do too, but managed never to say it aloud yet. 

My thoughts are wandering and I can’t seem to focus on these datapads Prowl sent to me. They aren’t that important but it is annoying that I have so little to do and I can’t even manage that. The joys and curses of having a really good staff – they deal with everything and leave me only the most important issues to decide. And the priestly ones, those that Prowl wouldn’t touch. Sunstorm…. Well, no mech can say that the Seeker can organize his priests. He would need somemech beside him to do that, or the church will sink in the chaos he creates by his existence. Trouble is, Starscream won’t be that mech, he is definitely not into religion. I make a note to have someone look at that issue. Can’t have the church of Primus survive on Sunstorm’s sermons or nothing else will be done.

I love my brother, I truly do from the bottom of my spark. But sometimes I could cheerfully strangle him. I hold the next datapad and grip the poor metal so tightly that cracks spiderweb across the screen. It couldn’t have been any mech else to hide this among Prowl’s packet. Okay, Jazz could, but he is far more subtle. There is nothing subtle about my brother’s methods, they are as straightforward as his blows to my helm during sparring. But I need no reminder to past Primes’ existences and the details of their rise to the Primacy. I have the Matrix telling it to me in far more detail than mere history could. I put aside the broken pad, making a note to chuck it at his helm when he comes in next.

Megatron knows that I know more history than any we have written… but perhaps he is not trusting me to use the Matrix since… since that time. I freely admit that it has shaken me and for a while I did not trust either myself or the Matrix to connect as we should, as we have always done. I did not tell him everything and it wearies me. The first time I hide anything of importance from my bondmate, my co-ruler, my brother and it is not a light issue. But the Matrix tells me that it is not his burden to bear. It is mine. 

The visions that were created by the accident were far more than he saw during that our hurried, shallow merge after I pushed myself away from that mech. Hot Rod. There. I am not afraid to say his designation. I am not afraid that he will probably be my successor, the being who will outlive me and inherit the Matrix from me. No, it is… normal. I came to power after my predecessor deactivated and never even suspected that I would be the new Prime, my brother the Lord High Protector… but that was normal too. There were plenty of Primes before me who were discovered and groomed for the task – and plenty more that were thrust into the job unsuspecting. 

So it is not Hot Rod’s existence as a Prime Candidate that bothers me, though I did little to dissuade my brother from believing so. But it helps so he is not asking more about the visions. Those images that disturbed even the Matrix. It was truly an accident, this peak into what might be the future, could be the past and could even be alternatives – should this timeline deviate from its proper path. There were terrible images there and perhaps the most painful ones where Megatron is my enemy. A terrible enemy he makes, I can believe that. But the worst are still when I am a monster, where the Matrix is a tainted, twisted tool of chaos and destruction… and where I feast on my brother’s protoform, torturing and raping him like I do with the whole world…

These are the images that give me the recharge fluxes, not a simple, flame-coloured mech unsuspecting of his future. Though he sometimes stars in those dreams. And the Matrix is as disturbed by them as myself, meaning that they are as important as unexpected, outside the normal world, outside Primus’s will. But it is not Hot Rod’s doing, his existence just an uncomfortable reminder of these visions that he’d unintentionally caused. And the fact that I almost spark-merged with a mech whom the Matrix too touched. Though at no point did the Matrix give any indication of leaving me, the situation was delicate. We could have ended up two Primes with one Matrix, impossible as that sounds. Or crippled in the spark, both of us. The Matrix has tremendous power it can exert.

Fragging him was good, in fact better than any before. _Little mech_ , as Megatron is fond to call him was a surprisingly good frag for such a young mech, such an inexperienced novice in the berth. He kept up with us till the spark merge and that is unusual too. He may have looked like a vain fop but he had strength hidden behind that flashy armour. Not much of a processor, but then he won’t have to be a scientist – good instincts and that is one thing that counts. But enough of Hot Rod, he still has vorns and vorns to live before he is called upon – if it ever happens.

I am thinking of him, because I need a frag. Preferably as good as he was and not a battle with Megatron and the nearly forced interface after it – no matter which one of us wins it is only painfully pleasurable for both of us. Megatron needs it too, but he knows and admits it – it is me who delayed the act so long, and made us both tense, stressed and irritable. It is not entirely just my brother who made Starscream disappear to parts unknown – usually it is just the one of us in a bad mood, but now it is both him and me. I know for a fact that Jazz is trying to convince Prowl to take the first ever holiday in his entire function and Ratchet is threatening to turn us into trash compactors ornly. 

I guess it would be for the best to indicate to my brother that I am not averse of the idea to have some night cycle entertainment again. I’m sure he’ll find a suitable mech soon – one not thrown upon us by a well-meaning courtier, because I hate when they do that. Why can’t they understand that I only entrust myself and the Matrix with one that Megatron chooses for us? He is not wearing the title of Lord High Protector for naught. Sometimes the court forgets in the decadence of the Golden Age that we are de facto the leaders of the planet and not just some flashy titles. 

“Megatron.”

I rumble as I feel the oh-so-familiar field brush against my back plates. Black servos sneak under my shoulder guards, massaging gently the tense cables, sharp talontips draw pinpricks of pain from nerve clusters. My field flares out, batting at him in retaliation. Deep laugh rolls through me like thunder. We will fight, I know, even as I sit there, enjoying the caring massage. The intent is all so clear in our fields. Well, we can manage it for another orn I guess.

“Optimus”

The deep voice never fails to make me shudder and my spark yearns to join its mate. But not yet. First our wills will clash. It is a clash of titans, or so I am told. I only protest the description out of politeness. Megatron usually just smirks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The visions that Optimus is describing are an accidental glance into the space-time continuum, letting him see other universes/timelines.


	3. Skywarp

Skywarp ran. The graffitied, rusted walls of the nameless Kaon street blurred around him, the dark air, heavy with smoke and acid fog bit into his wheezing vents and his thrusters shot a jag of pain at every running step he forced them to take on the debris-strewn pavement. Seekers are not supposed to walk much, much less run and even less to do so at his speed. It damages the thrusters and those are hard to get fixed. But sometimes a mech values continued functioning more than pain or damage, even if it is hard to repair. Skywarp certainly thought so as he swung around a corner, grabbing the rough metal for balance, the rusted edge biting into his palm.

The small, dirty alley opened into one somewhat wider and with more traffic – but of course there was no way a Seeker could get lost in a grounder crowd, not even one with such dark colouring and plenty of dirt on it as himself. But maybe they wouldn’t deactivate him in the middle of a commuter crowd? Skywarp hoped so, but he still ran, dodging walkers and cars in his haste, pushing them aside when they got into his way. He risked a glance backwards at the next corner and it dismayed him greatly. His pursuers didn’t lose him, in fact they gained on him and were just a few meters behind, their bellowed curses and insults grating on his audials. 

A small yelp broke free of the black Seeker’s panting vocalizer and he tried to coax more speed from his burning, throbbing, hurting pedes. Even the smallest of his pursuers was at least his size and a lot heavier, like most grounders, their rage at being robbed making them dangerous. It was a mistake stealing from a gang, Skywarp knew it as soon as he did the deed – but he was hungry and they had fuel and in his simple processor it equated to taking it. He hoped that it would be enough to make him lift off and leave them in the dirt – but alas, the cubes only contained a weak mid-grade, very far from being enough for a Seeker’s flight.

He didn’t know where the street led, as he was unfamiliar with this part of the town. How he got here, Skywarp wasn’t sure; lacking any goal he wandered on the dirty streets for joors before seeing the energon, ostensibly unattended, the cubes gleaming softly on a low wall, calling his hungry optics and Skywarp was unable to leave them, even though an instinctive sense inside screamed him that they were bait, that no mech would leave energon cubes on the street in Kaon, that he should not, must not take them… but he did anyway. 

How the Pit could he not, when his tank was almost empty? Skywarp rued the orn he left Vos in a fit of anger – he had never thought that other cities he would be even worse off. Back, in the Seeker city, he had at least got a job and enough energon to fly, even if he was at the bottom of society – here, he got nothing. Lowly grounders hated fliers, he got no job, no charity and the only thing they were interested in was his valve. And though he had as much pride as any Seeker, Skywarp soon had to frag for his fuel soon after arriving to the grounder city. Or steal, which only worked as long as he had enough fuel to teleport… it was a vicious circle, one he couldn’t get out of.

A heavy paw glanced off his right wing and Skywarp turned sharply to the left, tucking his wings in as much as he could. Another servo far too close for comfort, its wake felt on his overheated plating. The next one found him despite the desperate effort to be faster, to get away, to disappear… and when he felt it grabbing his wing roughly the black Seeker’s survival instincts activated his warp drive. No! His processor had the time to think only so much before the haze of the jump enveloped him – he was dangerously underfuelled even for the shortest jumps.

He also had barely enough time to register the other end of the teleport – crashing into a mech even larger than his pursuers, on a completely different street, Skywarp groaned and slid down on grey plating, his limbs already useless... and his processor, realizing the completely empty state of his tank shut down every system one by one, sending the hapless Seeker into emergency stasis in the worst possible klik.


	4. Megatron

_Optimus recharged without a flux for a decaorn and he hasn’t been babbling about the visions in recharge even longer. I take it as good news. We tussled last night, so the sheets around us are soaked in energon and I think I left him cuffed to the headboard. That means pouting and dark looks when he onlines and he won’t speak to me for about three joors. That’s bad news but nothing I can’t weather and we did relieve some of the tension during the dark cycle. I nearly let him go in surprise when he let me spike him after just a little foreplay and some token fighting. He must be wanting it even worse than I had thought…_

Megatron shook off the last vestiges of his recharge and blinked his optics to stop the idle musings and return to the _here-and-now_. He raised and turned his helm towards Optimus’s prone frame wedged between him and the headboard of the berth when he heard the first sound of the Prime’s systems onlining sluggishly. He didn’t lift his servos from where they were lodged deep into the blue hip fairing, energon still oozing faintly around his talons. He smirked faintly, thinking about how many of the courtiers would get a spark attack and shout bloody murder if they saw them this way. Red Alert would surely glitch and he wasn’t sure that Ratchet wouldn’t do something unnatural to him.

The way Optimus was spread out half under himself, his servos cuffed, Megatron’s spike still deeply imbedded in his valve, both of them covered in scrapes, dents and sticky energon, the berth covers around them torn and smeared with various substances… it was normal for them but very few who saw it would take the same way. Megatron nuzzled the blue plating under his helm, glossa licking a particularly nasty gash and when he saw the blue light coming on in the half-shuttered optics he took his brother’s mouth in a kiss before he could start to grumble or growl. 

“Mmmpf…!”

Well, he tried. Megatron lifted his bulk off the struggling red-blue frame and smirked down to the gathering stormclouds on his brother’s brow.

“Good light cycle, Optimus?”

He got a really nasty flash from ice-cold blue optics and a hiss from a still recovering vocalizer. 

“I thought so.” – he only grinned a little.

“Frag you!”

“Tut, tut, brother… so foul vocalizer so early… one would think you didn’t like my efforts to please you earlier.”

Megatron only get another glower, even nastier than the one before and a pointed look at the cuffs. Refraining from any more comments he took the cuffs off and cautiously let Optimus sit up. It was their unspoken agreement that the morning cycles were truce, whatever happened before – but then, it has been broken before, when one of them felt like having a little revenge. 

Not this time though. Megatron watched his brother slowly rise, wincing occasionally as injured plates got moved or rubbed on the berth covers and finally stretched his full frame up, popping stiff joints and cables. He looked magnificent and Megatron let a satisfied growl curl around them from his vocalizer. His. His brother, his bondmate, his Prime. Marked with his fluids all over the magnificent frame as he should be; taken in a battle as it was right and proper. His. As much as Megatron was his too of course. 

“You got that for the orn before last.” – the usually pleasant alt was now a dark growl and he didn’t look back towards the berth.

Megatron propped up a questioning brow, making no move to rise or even tuck away his messy spike. He felt too good to move just yet.

“When you let me win.”

Ahh. Megatron rather hoped that it wouldn’t be noticeable. Optimus needed that frag and he only had to make a few small mistakes to allow him to win. But it still rankled that this time it was _he_ who was allowed to win in return for that and take his brother’s valve as repayment. It wasn’t… right. The warrior inside him growled at the implications. He didn’t fragging _need_ help to win.

“Nor do I appreciate the stasis cuffs left on. They cut off the circulation and Ratchet will be rather pissed off having to recalibrate all the sensors there.”

“I kinda forgot them.” – he answered, focusing on the easier problem.

“I noticed.” – dark looks still, going well with the battered frame and the scowling, but oh-so-kissable lipplates so few have ever seen.

“Okay, I’ll try to remember next time.” – promises were cheap after all. Sometimes he even kept them.

“There will be no next time!”

Uhh-ohh. Optimus looked upset. He sat back to the berth but his back was turned towards Megatron, every line signalling his unease.

“What’s the matter, Optimus?”

No answer, but the red shoulders slumped slightly. Megatron knelt up, wincing slightly as he pulled his leg up – Optimus did score a few good hits last night – and shuffled behind his brother, hugged him and let his EM field convey a soothing caress. 

“There won’t be cuffs if you don’t like them. Just talk to me.”

“Hated it…” – came the muffled answer, Optimus’s faceplates buried into his servos. But his field started to smooth out under the ministrations.

“Okay. I won’t use them again.”

“I won’t _let_ you use them again!” – the snap was back to his brother’s tone and Megatron dared to smirk slightly again. That was the attitude he loved. It said that Optimus was regaining his usual self and not whined like a femme. 

“Well then… we’ll see next time.”

“I’d rather if we had somemech again to play with next time.”

Megatron perked up, slightly unbelieving at the sudden admission. Optimus turned and his glance was normal, the previous anger and pout already forgotten. 

“I mean it. It’s been too long.”

Megatron shrugged, conveying the notion that it wasn’t him delaying this. He wouldn’t pressure his brother, mainly because Optimus never reacted well to pressuring and manipulation but he would act if his brother was serious. It was, after all too long and much as he loved battling it out with his bondmate, a willing valve had its own allure. 

“I can find a suitable mech in a joor if you want to. An orn if you have something special in mind…?”

“Should… should be a different model.”

Optimus said that in a bit of a stiff tone, like he was embarrassed by it. But Megatron didn’t intend to make a joke of it. He wanted to avoid any flashbacks as much as his brother.

“Sure, why not? Anything in particular?”

“Maybe wings.” – Optimus grinned suddenly, mischievously – “Yours leave a lot to be asked.”

Megatron lazily shook the sturdy flight surfaces he had and conceded Optimus’s point. One of them hung at an angle, aching like Pit at the hinge, proving that his brother’s grip found it during last night cycle. But they weren’t anything like Seeker wings though, their sensitivity far less than those flimsy metallic plates. He couldn’t afford such a weakness in his frame. But if Optimus wanted wings… he’d get wings. It’s been a while they played with a flier.

He couldn’t go straight to Vos though, he first had a scheduled inspection in the Kaon garrison. It was to be boring as Pit, but then most of his work was boring these vorns. Good diplomacy has always meant less wars and even less enemies and Optimus was very good in his job. Still, Megatron took pride in maintaining the army in prime condition and that meant frequent inspections and drills in every base and posts.

He and a group of the Kaon officers were just between the inner city garrison and the outer camp, on foot considering all the grounder mechs present, when suddenly a dark frame appeared out of thin air front of him and crashed into his frame, its dead weight and the surprise pushing him too to the ground. There was shouting all around and various sounds of weapons primed, but Megatron didn’t need guards or protectors. Throwing the mech off of him he scrambled to his pedes, fusion cannon pointed to the blackish shape on the ground and he shouted the others to shut the frag up.

The mech was laying limply on the ground, clearly out cold, unable to attack, dirty wings haphazardly sticking out from under his limp frame. But Megatron recognized the shape even in this condition – it was nearly identical to Starscream’s. 

“What the frag is a Seeker doing here?”

“I’m sorry, Lord Megatron, he’ll be taken into custody at once…”

Megatron waved the Garrison Commander silent as a devious thought started to form in his processor. Optimus wanted wings. This mech had wings. He was also clearly destitute and underfuelled, meaning easy to convince. Maybe he wouldn’t even need to go to Vos...

“No. I’ll take him with me.” – He transformed the cannon away and deactivated his battle protocols – “After we get some fuel in him so he won’t deactivate.” 

“But Lord Megat…”

Onslaught wisely shut up at the warning glance Lord Megatron threw at him. If the Lord High Protector wanted a dirty Seeker with an even dirtier vocalizer – Skywarp was somewhat known among the Kaon warbuilds as a rare Seeker out of Vos, mainly because of his innate ability to create chaos around himself - then it was not his place to protest. He shut up, motioned a lieutenant to pick up the Seeker and take him with them. If he noted the Lord High Protector speeding up rest of the inspection, he made no mention of it.


	5. Optimus

Optimus Prime, ruler of Cybertron, revered by all mechs near and far and admired by many from other races, needed a joor after Megatron left for Kaon to gather enough courage to face with his medic, Ratchet and his inevitable ire. The servants put the energon-soaked berth into rights in a few breems, he delayed the inevitable cussing and lessons by fuelling for another, cursed Megatron for leaving so fast – the fragger took Hook with him who was far more humble when repairing mechs - and that left only to call the medic to the berthroom. Eventually. 

“Again?” – Ratchet’s roar could put a Predacon to shame and he hasn’t yet set a pede into the berthroom – “It hasn’t been two orns this time, you idiot!”

Optimus tried to shrug nonchalantly but the shoulder really hurt so he gave it up. He really didn’t feel ashamed or embarrassed by the berth-battles with his bondmate, but Ratchet had his way of making him feel like a young, lowly archivist, caught with his much larger brother-lover and a rather embarrassing set of injuries that had the medic laugh out loud at them… after which he fixed it of course. Since that time, they had no secret from the grumbling medic, but he could still make the ruler of the planet blush and duck his helm like he was that young mech again.

“It just… happened.”

“Sure. And a pair of stasis cuffs also _just happened_ to be there.”

Optimus shrugged – and winced - again. It wasn’t the first toy they used and he knew for a fact – after walking in on Ratchet and that mad engineer once in a very intimate moment – that the medic was a rather enthusiastic user of such restraints as well. Although he probably used them with greater care than Megatron…

“If it helps they won’t be utilized often… if it is up to me.”

“It doesn’t help me recalibrating your servo sensors now. What the frag did your idiot brother do with them?”

“Left them on all night cycle.” – Optimus scowled. By the time he onlined he hardly felt his servos at all. On top of the other… activities it was what made him so cranky when his brother tried to joke in the morning. 

“When I get that overgrown lawnmower into my servos again…!”

Optimus smirked, a bit relaxed, even as a plate was yanked forcefully back to place. Let Ratchet be angry at Megatron and not him. The medic would even dare to do something painful or embarrassing to the Lord High Protector, something not many other mechs would dare to. Therefore he let the irate mech tend his injuries without a single complaint.

“He’s gone to Kaon.”

“And took Hook with him.” – Ratchet wasn’t a novice in tending the Lords and knew all their tricks.

“I barely harmed him. He walked out on that knee with no problem.”

It left unspoken that the rest of the injuries were then minor. Ratchet growled and cursed the idiots inwardly and out loud too, welding a plate back to its place with rather more force than necessary. Optimus refused to wince. It was an old game that Ratchet usually won, but he tried none the less. 

“I want to see him when he comes back. Idiot wants a knee-joint fixed while moving?”

“He can be all yours.” – Optimus smirked – “Unless he brings back somemech.”

“He’s going to…? Good. Glad to hear you come to your senses.”

The Prime had that sheepish look in his optics that not many mechs could put there. Truth to be told he was rather annoyed by every mech trying to throw mechs at him and it had a rather large part in giving in and telling Megatron that they could resume their fun pastimes. He swore to himself though not to play with the mech’s spark anyhow. The visions still disturbed him and the Matrix was uneasy as well. He had a feeling that it would come back again, that the matter was more than just an accident, but put aside the disturbing thoughts.

“I thought you didn’t approve more interfacing?” – he asked Ratchet playfully.

“I thoroughly applaud interfacing. What I do not approve of is the amount of damage the two of you idiots cause to each other.” – Ratchet poked a servo sensor a little too hard and Optimus arrested the wince again – “It is frightening sometimes. Like… like you are enemies not mates.”

It hit just a bit too close to some of the visions and Optimus Prime shuddered slightly. Those visions showed what were indubitably many different timelines, parallel universes... and in most of them they were adversaries with Megatron, bitter, hateful, _tear into each other till offlining_ kind of enemies. Two stylized faces rose in his processor, red and purple, peaceful and sharp, opposing each other with red and blue optics so much like their own here. Optimus Prime couldn’t imagine his brother’s red optics exude hate and contempt towards himself, shine with deadly intent and hunger for his spark’s end… but he has seen it in those visions. 

“You know the reason. It is never our intention to damage. But we fight and injuries… just happen. And we can take them.”

“I know. It is still frustrating to fix you up afterwards. What if one of you misjudge a blow, a hit, a slash one orn and it goes too deep, severs something important, cause irreparable damage?”

Great, now Ratchet too was upset. He slapped the tool he was holding to the table and turned away halfway, servos in fists. Ratchet cared about them, his medic coding was in a constant uproar that he had to let them hurt each other, no matter the reason he knew and acknowledged with his processor. 

“We are warriors, Ratchet. We both know exactly what each hit causes and would never go further than it is necessary. We fight to win, not to offline the other.”

“I know that too. Still… there are accidents and I won’t… can’t stop worrying.” – Ratchet got hold of himself with a visible effort and his mouth jerked in a sudden grin and his voice acquired a mock threatening tone – “But one orn I will weld one of you to the berth for real!”

“Of that I have no doubt.” – Optimus Prime rumbled, glad that the medic, his friend collected himself. He didn’t like the excessive worry, though it oddly touched him – “Please do it to my slagging bondmate first. I owe him one and stasis cuffs are not my thing.”

The medic’s lipplates twisted, like he was trying to hide a smirk, but he nodded and the blue optics twinkled in secret amusement.

“If he brings you a mech, that will have to wait a little.”

“We have time after it too. Plenty.”

They didn’t, but neither of them knew it then. One of the other Primes, those in the visions was able to look back through the dimensional window created by the accident – and he didn’t like what he saw either.


	6. Skywarp

Skywarp wasn’t a stranger to onlining in unknown, queer places, among stranger mechs and not remembering how he got there. Being a Seeker with a liking of too much high-grade and a teleport device he only half mastered the workings of and half just hang on when it activated, it was inevitable. Though the lack of a pounding processor-ache signified that this time there was probably no high grade involved. Skywarp cautiously unshuttered one optic to a slit, trying to be inconspicuous, in case he was in trouble. It wasn’t a rare thing in his life either. 

But a covert look around revealed no danger and the room didn’t look a prison cell either. For a Seeker, Skywarp was quite familiar with how such places looked. Even after opening his other optic and rising slightly to have a better view, he saw nothing out of ordinary in the room. Curiously enough it looked like someone’s normal living accommodations, neat, tidy and impersonal. The only trouble was, Skywarp didn’t have such a place, nor did he knew any mechs who would have one _and_ allow him into theirs. His usual crowd was unsavoury, rough and very much the opposite what a normal, orderly room would signify. 

It made him suspicious. No headache, no restraints, no prison and not even a brothel he once woke up in as an unwilling buymech… while his last memories were a chase and some big, angry mechs chasing after his tailfins with some really nasty intentions if their shouts and yells were any indication. Then a sudden, instinctive teleport at the paw on his wing, that much he remembered, another mech he crashed into… and then nothing. 

And now here he was, conspicuously in once piece, relatively good condition, fully fuelled, well-recharged… huhh, what? Skywarp backtracked his thoughts. He hasn’t been fully fuelled in… vorns probably. Certainly not since he left Vos. So that was really, really suspicious, no matter how good it felt. There was no such thing as free fuel, not in Kaon. The black and purple Seeker got up from the berth, noting how it was also simple but good quality and moved towards the window to check the outside for his position. A teleporter, even such an uncontrolled one as Skywarp learns fast that the most important thing is to know one’s position at all times.

But he barely had enough time to recognize the Kaon cityscape when the door behind him slid aside and Skywarp whirled to face the newcomer. The mech in the doorway was big, bristling with hints of several weapons under that military grade armour, but at the same time polished and painted in an elaborate way very few of the military cared. He was certainly intimidating to the point of being threatening and the Seeker straightened up instinctly and flared his wings to look bigger. But it took only a few kliks before the black wings dropped, disappeared behind his black and Skywarp’s lipplates opened with a small yelp, his red optics widened in shocked surprise.

“L-lord M-megatron?!?”

Skywarp scurried backwards until the wall stopped him and considered a _blind teleport_. He still wasn’t sure why he was apprehended and what the Lord High Protector wanted from him, but his experience told him it was probably bad. He wanted nothing to do with the army, ever again.

“Yes. And your designation is, I hear Skywarp.”

“Yeah, that’s me… uhh, My Lord.”

“Don’t be afraid, you’ve done nothing wrong.”

Skywarp very much doubted the validity of that statement but he didn’t correct the Lord of the planet. 

“Though I must admit I’d be interested to know why you teleported into me.”

Skywarp’s already growing anxiety peaked suddenly. That was Lord Megatron he ‘ported into? Frag, he was an idiot. Which wasn’t a surprise, as it was generally the thing that got him into trouble.

“I, uhh, I’m sorry, Sir, I didn’t meant to, it was just a blind jump, and I didn’t mean to teleport into you… uhh…”

“No harm was done.” – Lord High Protector still didn’t make a threatening move, but his optics flashed in a barely there curiosity – “I must admit I find curious that a teleporter is not in the army… especially a Seeker.”

Skywarp blushed and scowled at the same time. It wasn’t something he liked to share but he had to answer.

“I, uhh… I was. My Lord.”

“Did you leave for the private sector then?”

“Umm… no. I was… I couldn’t control my ability well enough… and I was thrown out.”

Skywarp discreetly pinched his plating to make sure he was awake and it wasn’t just an outlandish dream. He was discussing his dismissal from the Academy with the Lord High Protector, a grounder but the commander of the army throwing him out? Really? Could he get any lower than this…?

“I see. And from the condition we found you… you still can’t control it very well.”

Skywarp’s wings threatened to disappear behind him in shame. The Lord High Protector found and poked at the one thing that could still evoke that emotion in him, even after so many vorns. He had tried, he really did. But Skywarp had no processor for academics, he couldn’t teleport by consciously calculating vectors, positions, equations and myriad of other things, like his instructors insisted that he must. He learned more about his ability since leaving the Academy than while he was at it.

“You can learn, you know?”

Skywarp bristled and in his anger he didn’t think who he was talking with. His voice snapped as he answered…

“I tried! Those fraggers… they never teleported in their lives but they wanted to tell me how to do it? I… uhh… s-sorry…” – he suddenly realized that he was shouting at _Lord Megatron_...

The other mech just waved his apologies away, apparently not concerned by his vocalizer – in fact an amused smirk hid at the corner of his lipplates. 

“No matter. It is your problem anyhow. I had you brought here for another reason than your ability, interesting that it is.”

Skywarp nodded, waiting with a little dread for the reason. He couldn’t quite imagine what it could be… no mech before was interested in anything other than his ability and he got used to that.

“I want to convince you to spent a night cycle with myself and my bondmate.”

Skywarp’s helm bobbed to the side, his quivering wings froze in mid-motion and his processor suddenly stopped working. He… wanted… what? Lord High Protector Megatron wanted a… 

“I’m not a pleasurebot…!” – it was strictly speaking true, even though he had interfaced with mechs for… favours and gains, once to be allowed in the Academy a little more time even… but never for credits. That was what made the difference… wasn’t it? 

“I didn’t suggest that you were. We never take pleasurebots or buymecha to our berth. It is completely voluntary… despite of the compensation. But none have regretted it yet who agreed.”

The Lord Megatron’s optics were burning and in a strange way they weakened Skywarp’s knee-joints with their intensity. They weren’t frightening, no, instead… he felt hot and shuddered under that weighty stare. He couldn’t help but admit that he was interested. Once the shock dissipated and his – somewhat false – indignation cooled he was definitely intrigued.

“I… why me?”

“Why not?” – that scarred, fanged mouth was frightening, even as it drew to a smile. Skywarp tried hard not to imagine it kissing him but his wings fluttered slightly. – “You are not against it, I can see.”

The red glance flashed to his wings and Skywarp stilled the appendages. He wasn’t used to grounders who understood wings. It made him even more interesting… if the ruler of the planet needed to be made any more interesting. Skywarp knew that he was lost and his protest was just for show, his questions to delay the inevitable. He _wanted_ the large, enticing frame with his surely huge spike, he _wanted_ the experience he would never have otherwise, the danger, the thrill, he _wanted_ the sheer impossibility of him, a failure, a dirty beggar, a shame to Seekerkin to frag the most powerful being of the planet. Or be fragged by him, however it worked. 

“No…” – his vocalizer hitched and he let his wings tell whatever they wanted to – “I’m… not.”

“Excellent. For the details you’ll have to come with us, to Iacon – I’m not very good at the legal nonsense – but you’ll like it better than Kaon, I think.”

Skywarp couldn’t help but agree. Iacon was far better than Kaon on a good day and he would have more opportunities there. Still, the speed with which things moved frightened him a little. In a joor he was ordered to join Lord Megatron in the transport, in two they landed in a secluded, little airfield that was enclosed, almost like hidden from general aerial traffic and in mere breems he gawked at the glittering Iacon Palace corridors from the inside, making a fool of himself even more.

Somewhere along the way he was led he lost track of the Lord High Protector and was guided by other mechs even deeper into the place, where rooms and corridors were even more amazing and impossible. Then, in small office a nondescript mech jabbered something legal and complicated into his audials that Skywarp choose to ignore completely until he had to sign the thing and shook off the disapproving gaze as unimportant. Finally he was bathed, scrubbed and cleaned until he squawked and his cheap, black paint flaked off into the dirty solvent bath.

He felt naked without the paint, far more so than at the time he shed his whole armour for a bet way back at the Academy. But he had no time to feel uncomfortable, because he was repainted exactly as he was before, only with far more care and details than he ever had credits for – or patience for. Here, he felt dazed enough to stand still until it was finished, the paint sealed, waxed, polished and scented – that made him sneeze and grimace, though his protests were ignored.

Just like the nasty grimaces he threw at the medic who came next, poking into his interface array with strange tools – _are you all perverts in this Palace?_ \- and he even pawed at his spark – _what the frag are you doing?!_ – but apparently he agreed to it, or at least they said he did when he signed the datapad. Well, slag. Skywarp lay back and let them shut down his teleport device too. That was the first thing that truly frightened him. He had no way out, should he need one. 

He grew annoyed instead, to cover up the fear and regaled them with choice insults from his repertoire. He wanted to frag, not being scrubbed and poked in uncomfortable places. Wasn’t that what Lord Megatron wanted from him?


	7. Nightfall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it took six chapters, but the smut is here at last! :-D

Finally, at last he was clean enough for their meticulous taste and the fragging medic disappeared too and Skywarp was pushed out by some servants into yet another corridor. Skywarp was getting used to the riches and decorations by this time, so it came as no surprise to see all the opulence around him. They were near the end of yet another corridor when the elaborate, huge doors at the end opened and another Seeker stepped out of it. Skywarp stopped and thought his optics might just melt from the other’s appearance – he had no idea that there was a Seeker so outrageously garish as the one standing in front of him and sneering nastily.

The look… ohh, the look was one he knew very well. Slagging nobles that looked down on him with open disdain, like he was something dirty and lowly, a stain under their pedes… and the look on the garish golden face was one of the worst Skywarp ever saw. His wings drooped automatically, a reaction beaten into him in Vos to be submissive when facing with nobles… but then he hitched them up again, staring boldly back. They weren’t in Vos and the Seeker could stuff his attitude up his aft for all he cared…

“What a choice…” – the sneering voice had the same quality as the look and Skywarp jerked back – “All the polish in the planet can’t make _that_ presentable…”

Privately Skywarp thought that his own shiny black with the new purple trim was far tastier than the other’s gaudy, optic-hurting gold, but he knew better than talk back. Looks, they can’t punish him for, but speaking up and probably insult a high-ranking Seeker priest was another matter. Fortunately the guard that guided him nudged him forward with an apologetic gesture and bow to the golden Seeker and the huge door opened again to admit him. 

When it closed again Skywarp was looking around curiously in the huge room with its opulence, stuffed with riches and comfortable style – but he wasn’t interested in the décor. The large, menacing shape he was searching for lounged on the immense sized berth that occupied the middle of the room, his laughter just dying down, but the echoes of it still lingering under the vaults of the ceiling. Skywarp lifted a brow-plate and listened, curious. 

“That was… Optimus, I swear he is worse every orn.” – the deep voice announced, tone still tinged with laughter’s last echoes.

“He means well, I’m sure.” – another voice answered, from deeper into the room, the red-blue frame of the Lord Prime lounging comfortably in an armchair – “Though I too doubt Primus would want to dictate our function in quite so many details.”

Skywarp stood at the door, fascinated by the conversation enough that it superseded his natural impatience.

“He makes all that slag up, you know?” – Lord Megatron rolled to his front on the berth, facing his brother, but his next sentence was clearly not intended to him – “You can come closer, Skywarp, you know? In fact it is desired for interfacing.”

“I… _uhh_ … sure…” – whatever the etiquette mech told him, Skywarp let them fly by his audials as much as he did with the legal nonsense. But he shuffled closer, unsure once by the berth what to do and not wanting to presume. Much as he was generally disrespectful of his betters – as he was told time and time again – there was something indefinable about the pair, something that made him be a lot more cautious than usual. 

“Sunstorm was exhorting us before you came, about Primus not wanting us to consort with such low-ranking mecha.” – It might have sounded insulting, had the voice not contained traces of that laughter still that took the edge off of it.

“He is that garish-gold Seeker who left before I came in?”

Skywarp cautiously lowered himself to the berth, sitting close enough for easy access to Lord Megatron. He managed not to flinch when a taloned servo reached out and grabbed his left wingtip, unceremoniously pulling him forward, to kneel in front of him.

“You never saw the High Priest in a public vid?”

“Not much interested in religion…” – he groaned as the other servo started to knead the cables in his thigh. Without any hesitation he reciprocated the movement on the silver armor’s seams, noting the satisfied growl at it – “Wudda remembered him if I ever saw that ridiculous colour…”

The laughter was even more intense from up close, its waves rolling through his whole frame, flashing through the wing sensors. He smirked back, emboldened by the apparent mirth and the shamelessly roaming servos.

“I thought Seekers like flashy paints?” – the question came from behind him, a lot closer than the Lord Prime used to sit when he arrived. It surprised him a little – why he thought that it was only Lord Megatron whom he would have to entertain, Skywarp wasn’t sure, but it was apparently not the case. But he answered to him even as he continued to tease the silvery armour. 

“Only the upper castes… _unhhh_ … and not all… _ahhh_ … have taste to go with it… too…”

Skywarp’s voice turned into a moan as the other pair of servos slid slowly on his wing’s edge, making the metal tremble and warm. They were heavy too, hinting of strength and power, just a touch of danger, of hurt… but they were knowledgeable about wing anatomy too, exerting just the right amount of grip, dipping into seams and flicking sensors as they went. He flared the wings slightly, to get closer to those amazing digits that ended their journey by scratching the tip’s sensors, swamping his processor with pleasure.

The EM field pressing over his back was strong too, a mech’s who was used to power, whose function was to rule and order others around. It was different from the stark military power of the Lord High Protector, the field of a warrior sparked and trained – he’s felt many such fields, though of course they came not even close to his intensity. The Prime was different though. Not less intense, not less powerful, but he was far more complex in a way that Skywarp couldn’t explain, couldn’t understand.

Nor did he try to, not while his wings were molested in such a marvellous way that his own servos weakened and trembled in their adventures on the silver plating. Frag, they were playing on his frame like he was a musical instrument, he thought, processor slightly dazed and frame hot already. The frame of the Prime was larger than his and he felt the mech lean over him, covering him like an ominous shadow, pressing him forward gently but inexorably both with his field and his frame. 

The blue servos slid downwards, their path on the flat metal of his wings a tingling track that made him bow backwards slightly. The black servos on his front also made their way down from his vents, talontips drawing the outline of his cockpit with burning lines while the large palm rubbed the warm steelglass. They played with the material until it was hot and then left, going lower sliding over plates and seams, dipping between his legs until it cupped his interface panel, covering the heated metal completely. The strong grip there nearly undone Skywarp and his moaning toned down to low, needy groans.

His own servos faltered, his optics fluttered close and the Seeker bucked into the grip, his valve lubricating copiously already, some of it already oozing through the panel’s seams. Heat was flushing through him, arousal and need… want for more than the teasing touches, moans for more, babbling words poured forth from his vocalizer without much sense. Laughter, gentle, only slightly mocking laughter rolled through him.

“Doesn’t take much to get him ready, ehhh…?”

The tone drew some of the haze from his processor and Skywarp tried to scowl… and failed completely when his panel slid open and the digits dipped in to tease the outer nubs. The fresh wave of pleasure washed away his resentment but he managed to put his servos on the silver panel in retaliation, coaxing out the spike that… _huhh_. The sheer size of it made Skywarp regain some of his lucidity. He’d seen, felt and played with some impressive spikes during his tenure at the Academy – Seekers in general had nothing to be ashamed size-wise compared to grounders, quite the opposite – but this one… _well, frag_ , Skywarp thought wryly, it _was_ the biggest he’d seen so far. 

“That’s it, good Seeker…” – the spike was hard already, lubricant glistening on the head that he smeared down on the shaft with quick motions. He would need all the lubricant available to take it comfortably… - “Yes, like that…” – the deep voice hissed and growled into his audials as he worked.

The large servos nudged his legs and Skywarp eagerly parted them, kneeling in a wide stance on the berth between the two larger frames. The Prime was still seemingly content to play with his wings, not that Skywarp had anything against it. He leaned back as the black servos insisted and bucked his hips again as the digits dipped into his valve. A fresh gush of lubricant coated the digits, making it easy for them to slip in. A satisfied growl greeted his eagerness and the digits sought out his inner sensors, flicking them and moving, stretching him in preparation. 

“Just don’t fight it… relax and enjoy…”

“I’m… good! _Unghhh_ … so… good…” – he panted, nearly unable to speak, but gathering his concentration a bit for a few words.

The digits on his wings tightened, their grip becoming nearly painful, scratching burning tracks into the metal. Vents behind him blew hot air onto his plating and a large helm leaned over him, blunt but large denta grazing on his nosecone, scratching the metal and the imbedded sensors. Skywarp shrieked at the strong sensations that for some kliks his processor couldn’t decide whether to take it as pain or pleasure. Then a glossa licked the burning track and it was pure pleasure swamping him, a strong purr throbbing against sensitive metal.

“Oohhh…”

He felt the digits being removed from his valve that clenched on emptiness – but then the digits muffled his mouth and his shriek cut off. _Lick_ … he had to remind himself in the dazed, jumbled chaos that his processor was in, _lick them off_. He was doing that enthusiastically when that huge spike’s blunt, hot head bumped into his entrance. Half automatically, Skywarp spread his legs even more and relaxed inwardly, knowing instinctly, even in his pleasure-swamped haze that it was going to be a tight fit.

It was. He was held and braced by the Prime behind him, his servos holding him down by the wings, unable to move much as Lord Megatron pushed into his valve in a single, powerful thrust, nearly lifting him off the berth with the power of it. The sheer girth and length that was now imbedded in him was enough to yell inarticulately, around the digits still in his mouth – but in a klik he realized that it didn’t hurt. He felt so full as never before, his hip joints and cables burned with the stretch and his calipers strained to open wide enough – but it was a good kind of effort and they relaxed in a few kliks that he was given after the initial penetration.

Then the spike pulled out and slammed back and he was hit by a tidal wave of so strong bliss, sensors in his valve all screaming for his attention all at once, that he felt falling into it, unable to yell even, groaning in mindless pleasure. Skywarp loved sensations, loved pleasure and chased it always – but this time he was helplessly falling into the blissful sea, somewhat frightened too by the intensity of it; but it was just a tiny little thought in some corner of his processor, because the rest of it was groaning and moaning how good it was, how fragging great it was and how much he loved it… and he must have babbled some of that aloud too, because in the haze of the thrusts he heard a panting laughter from both sides of him.

“I like… your tight… _unhhh_ … valve too, Seeker…”

Another laugh from behind and his nosecone received a sharp bite that flashed down through his sensor-net like painful lightning to ground itself in his valve. The thrusts now literally lifted him up from the berth and Skywarp saw stars sometimes through the haze though he wasn’t sure whether his optics were open or shuttered. It didn’t matter, he decided, holding on to the silver plating for dear life. It was entirely too intense already and impossibly it still grew. The purring from behind strengthened into a growl and he felt the other spike rubbing on his aft, the Prime shuffling so close he was nearly draped over his back and wings, almost too heavy, heat pouring from him up close… and he humped his aft while nibbling on his nosecone and vents alternately. 

“Can’t wait to feel it too…” – he growled with a lust-filled tone.

It couldn’t grow much more, he felt, his charge was entirely far too much now, the thrusts becoming more and more erratic, forceful and impossibly deeper, the servos denting his hips as they pulled and held him. Random twitches and jerks shook his frame and his calipers tried to grip the invading spike, undulate around the length and sometimes even succeeding in it. His babbling was without words now, inarticulate yells punctuating the thrusts until there was a sharp bite at a particularly sensitive node on his nosecone and his charge peaked and he shouted out long and loud, the sound reverberating in the berth-chamber…

Inner tensors and cables tightened up till the point of creaking, gripping the spike inside, halting its thrusts for a klik… but Lord Megatron forced himself through the inner grip and rammed into him deep with his own climax, the hot transfluid bursting into the tight space, the loud growl nearly blanketing his own shout. The short, sharp jerks afterward pulsed a few more burst of the scalding hot fluid into him, splashing out in sticky droplets beside the spike before the unbearable tension started to slowly abate. 

Skywarp wilted in a sudden weakening of his knee joints, and he would have fallen, had he not been propped up between the two large frames. His processor floated on a plane rarely achieved, where nothing but pleasure existed, drifting in pure, fluffy bliss. His cables and tensors relaxed, the burn becoming a pleasant tingle, the bite-marks tickling caresses, the spike impaling him a welcome intrusion filling him. When it slid out, splashing the rest of the transfluid onto the berth, dripping down on his thighs, he almost protested, wanting that marvellous stretch back for more. 

Tiredly, his pleasantly aching calipers tightened around the leaving spike, like a final caress and he was rewarded by a satisfied purring growl.

“Even better than I’d thought…”

Skywarp managed a proud smirk, though he still couldn’t open his optics. He felt sated and marvellous, the slight, earlier apprehension completely disappearing. His slowly recovering frame was held upright by the Lord High Protector, the mech sounding just as sated and happy as himself. He could even have had a nap right there...

“Don’t fall into recharge yet…” – the laughing tone warned him.

… but for the other frame behind him, the Lord Prime’s field feeling far from satisfied yet, his tenseness unrelieved, his hard spike twitching restlessly by his aft, impatient for his turn. The servos left his wings to push him forward, onto the Lord High Protector’s darkly purring, hot frame leaning backwards, presenting his messy valve to the Lord Prime behind. For a Seeker the position was familiar, normal even – the way the one on top could play with the wings, doubling the pleasure – and the threesome is natural for Seekers as well.

When he pressed into his valve, Skywarp hissed quietly. The overload tightened the valve calipers again and the Prime’s spike was easily as big as Lord Megatron’s. It didn’t hurt, he was well lubricated by this time, but it was slightly uncomfortable at first, the sensors still oversensitive, resetting after the processor-blowing overload. But as it slid in and out first, the discomfort disappeared fast. The spike had some elaborate ridges on it that slid over the valve sensors in a rhythm that quickly drove Skywarp mad. He had met with some modded spikes before but this one was a thing on its own. He shouldn’t have had his charge up so fast after that spectacular overload a mere breem ago – but there he was, moaning again shamelessly after a few thrusts that made his valve like it was in fire… but in a good way, a marvellous burn, a melting-hot pleasure…

“Tight…” – panting growl from behind – “exquisite…” – a thrust deep – “feels good…”

He was in fire, Skywarp thought, melting in it in fact, it was so good. How, he didn’t know, nor did he care. The thrusts were exquisite, alternating shallow and deeper penetration, sometimes barely clearing the first calipers, sometimes the servos on his wings pulling him back so viciously that his aft plates clanged loudly on the red pelvis. Sometimes the spike was making devious little circles that caused an entirely impossible reaction in him, then it all slowed to barely there, gentle slides that made him want grind back and beg for more. He was loud too again, moaning continuously and yelling when the Prime thrust in forcefully… until his mouth was captured by Lord Megatron and his yells muffled by a fanged, aggressive kiss. 

He tried gamely to reciprocate but by this time he barely had processing power to direct anything resembling to conscious movements. 

“Don’t bother…” – the fangs left his lips minutely with drops of energon oozing from tiny marks and the deep voice grumbled into his audial – “…just enjoy it now. You’ll have plenty of opportunities to work later.”

Skywarp nodded and twitched his wing to signal his understanding – he didn’t feel coherent enough for words, not the way the lengthening thrusts of the overlarge, elaborate spike shattered his thoughts every klik. It didn’t take long for the Prime to reach his climax, his deep voice shaking him with a roar as he rammed into his valve viciously, pulling him back onto his spike by the denting grip on his wings. The strong jet of another burst of hot transfluid that drenched his innermost nodes pushed Skywarp over the edge too. Screaming into the mouth still plundering his own, he ground his aft back in processorless abandon, seeking the last ergs of his climax, giving everything he had to the Prime, milking the spike with his madly clinging calipers. 

Then he flopped forward strutlessly, thoroughly spent, dazed and sated. A dead weight settled onto his back that made Skywarp want to squirm, but he had no strength left. His wings barely twitched and they were the only part of him that could do even so much. The spike in his valve still spread him open, wide and obscene, but it didn’t move now, the Prime’s field deeply sated but still where it enveloped him. Did he manage to knock out _The Prime_? Apparently… he did.

Skywarp felt inordinately proud about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just something I remembered and explains Sunstorm and a few other things at the beginning of the chapter and the end of the last one: On this Cybertron the caste system is not abolished entirely, only softened up, made a little bit more fair. In this system, a capable mech can rise from the lowest caste anywhere higher, though of course he'd have far harder job than a noble-born mech or a rich one. But it is not impossible. So, for example if Skywarp did better in the Academy he could have risen through the army - it was in a way his own failing too that made it impossible.


	8. Intermezzo I.

_“You will create a way to get to this place, gather proof that you went there and return. Do you understand?!” – The ruthless, powerful tone roared from the height of a throne down to the kneeling figure in front of him._

_“Yes… master…” – croaked, broken whisper, forced out of an unwilling vocalizer, a protesting processor. He abhorred the thought of infecting another world with the energon-stained darkness and chaos of theirs – but the slave codes left him no will to refuse or protest. He wore the chains inside, the mark of his status is only a dark collar around a slender neck - an eternal slave to see his world shattered and ruined, friends and lovers gone while he is forced to stay._

_“Get right down to it then! And do it fast as possible!”_

_He crawled back into the dark little room he lived in – if such an existence could be called living -, processor already working on equations, possibilities, actual ways to create such a gateway, trembling servos scribbled ideas and sketches onto scuffed datapads. He couldn’t stop, he couldn’t even delay it. His master’s orders had to be carried out at once. He couldn’t even recharge until he was done, the codes left him not even that much leeway for interpretation. If any mech, he could do this enormous task._

_He created the portal in five orns. A masterpiece of a genius, a brilliant piece of engineering that would bring everlasting fame to any scientist in another world, after a lifetime of work. Here, he was rewarded by a meagre cube of energon so he wouldn’t fall into stasis when he is trying out the way to another dimension – and he is relieved by not being punished for the time it took to create the device._

_“You will not reveal anything of us, should you meet one of them! Now, get into it, let’s see if it works!”_

_“Yes, master…”_

_Starscream stepped into the portal and prayed for a miracle. Not for himself – for an unsuspecting, innocent, peaceful universe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been musing a lot about the structure of this story (multiverse fics are notoriously hard to structure IMHO), but at the end I went with the idea of the other plotline presented as separate intermezzos; not full chapters, just giving a glimpse of what is happening while Skywarp entertains the Lords. Normally, this other plotline should get more importance, but I wanted to preserve the original kinkmeme/slashy character of the fic, so I kept it like this. I hope it works. :-)


	9. Midnight

Fortunately the Prime regained consciousness after only a few kliks, because he was pretty heavy and Skywarp was fairly sure that he wouldn’t appreciate being thrown off. Besides was the fact that he himself felt rather wobbly still, after two processor-blowing overloads, not sure he could move the rather heavy bulk off. But if the events so far were the indication of the further activities of the night-cycle, he wasn’t complaining. Groaning satisfied as the spike left his valve and cooling, sticky transfluid dripped out after it, he lifted off Lord Megatron, a goofy smile already on his lipplates. 

“You look happy, Seeker…”

“Uhh, yeah… I am. I sure hope it was as good for you as for me, ‘cos I loved it.”

A flash of surprise flitted through the stern faceplates, so fast that Skywarp wasn’t even sure he’d seen it or just imagined before the scarred lipplates drew to an easy, fanged smile.

“Keep up that spirit and you won’t be disappointed.” – he twisted to the side, looking at the blue helm of the Lord Prime who didn’t go far after lifting himself off of Skywarp – he was sprawled beside them, large limbs thrown haphazardly every which way and vents still dispelling hot air from his frame.

“Optimus…?” – he wouldn’t show concern in front of their… guest, it would be detrimental to the Prime’s image.

But his brother lifted his helm slightly, one blue servo waving his unspoken concern off.

“Good choice, brother…” – he said, rather breathless still, but his voice rang sated and satisfied – “Definitely one of your better choices.”

It was good enough for Megatron – that Optimus had a stellar overload was a good thing, regardless of the reason. He turned back to the silently smirking and not even secretly proud Seeker. He was really a good choice, however an accident it was that dropped him – literally – on his lap. Far less timid than that small mech was last time and obviously better versed in berth plays too. But it wouldn’t do to let him grow in confidence and start to think more of himself than he should…

“Now… you can put that mouth to use if you have so much energy.” 

At the black helm’s hesitant move he nodded towards his messy spike, with the slowly cooling lubricant-transfluid mixture on it. There was understanding and obedience in the red optics of the Seeker and he shuffled until he lay on the berth perpendicular to Megatron, propped up on elbows, legs thrown apart in a messy display he apparently didn’t mind at all, his helm so close to his spike that the vents blew hot air directly onto it. Megatron shuddered and very nearly yanked the helm down on his awakening arousal… but let him proceed in his own pace. 

He didn’t regret it. Long, purple digits wound themselves around the base of his spike, and a talented glossa slowly, sensuously swiped up the fluids from base to head in a straight line, across the ridges and slurping obscenely when he reached the end. Megatron laughed at the base sound even as he had to resist the urge again to drive his spike up, into that dirty mouth… but before he could do it, the helm bobbed down, the glossa repeated its path upwards and the silver mech forgot his intention in favour of the sensation Skywarp was causing him. 

Black thrusters with purple trim flailed in the air beyond the quivering black wings, like Skywarp was having the time of his life. Though it wouldn’t normally trouble Megatron, the Seeker was becoming a bit too cocky for his taste – and by the feel in the bond Optimus’s too. It was their habit to first put the mechs they had to ease, as most of them were intimidated and some outright fearful of them, which made the entertainment a bit sour. The method usually worked, even the most frightened mecha thawed out considerably after a few overloads that didn’t hurt – enough so they could commence with the more kinky part of the night.

But this Seeker, as he was not afraid to begin with, was now almost arrogant, even while licking and sucking his spike eagerly. A growl rose from his vocalizer, one that Skywarp took as a result of his ministrations, but Optimus sensed the underlying, darker intent and amusement curled back to him through the sated bliss he still felt. He captured the flailing black pedes from behind and his servo started to map out the sensitive insides of them, the blue digits almost too big to fit into the slender channel that was built to withstand so great forces, yet so full of sensitive nodes.

The glossa on his spike twitched and the Seeker blew hotter air out suddenly, wings pricking up like electrified. A long groan trembled the air around Megatron’s glossa but he continued his task. The thrusters were slowly forced down, the black hips nudged and encouraged to rise from the berth, changing his stance from comfortable and playful to submissive, helm down and his aft in the air. 

Megatron put one servo on the black helm, not forcing it, just to signal him that he should remain with his task. Which Skywarp did, licking and caressing the black spike even as the Prime’s servos left his thrusters and moved up, towards his still-open panel and dripping valve. Megatron propped up his helm slightly with a pillow to have a better view and smothered a smirk. The touches on his spike aroused him, because Skywarp was good at it, but not so much as to take his attention away.

When Optimus slowly pressed the silvery oblong sphere into the Seeker’s valve, his spike got treated by a deep, shuddering, unintended, but very hot moan around it, Skywarp’s red optics slowly shuttering and his servo tightened minutely. He resumed his licks in a klik, but his vents became distinctly ragged as the toy slid deeper and Optimus activated it remotely. 

“Aaahhh… frag…” – the tone was deeper too and holding a desperate tinge. 

Megatron laughed as the more and more aroused Seeker licked and sucked his spike with obvious signs of his growing charge… until a click sounded in the moans- and panting-filled room that stopped them all. 

“Uhhh…”

Optimus sat up straight, his servos tightening on black hips until it was denting the metal, blue optics stormy. Megatron’s servo froze on the black helm and his brow plates drew together.

“That was… unwise.” – he growled. Though he couldn’t see it from this angle, the sound was a spike panel retracting that had to be the Seeker’s. By the trembling wings he knew it too.

But Optimus surprised him by giving a slightly cruel-sounding chuckle.

“No, it’s all right…” – he said and his servos disappeared between the black thighs where Megatron couldn’t see them. But he could see the Seeker’s slightly panicky glance and the strong jerk that shook his wings. Megatron lifted a brow plate at his naughty-looking bondmate and bent to see the cause. 

The flier’s spike was black like his own, though much smaller and when he saw the shining ring tightened on its base, he smirked too. They rarely ever used this little toy, considering that most mechs they played with were warned not to release their spikes at all – but it was a fitting thing to their mood and likely curbing the Seeker’s cocky attitude too as he would be denied overload. 

“Go on… you were so eager just a klik ago.”

“S-sure…”

Skywarp’ voice lost several degrees of his cocksure arrogance already and he’d loose the rest too if they kept it up. Megatron smirked again and made himself comfortable.

“No need to hurry… be thorough.” 

Over the black helm dipping down to his task his glance met with Optimus’s wicked grin and mirth blossomed in their bond. His brother was availing himself of the wings again, this time with a bit more force. Blue digits slid on seams and dipped by the ailerons to bend the sensitive metal. The wings arched up, but he didn’t let them go, forcing them back to spread out in front of him, the grip strong enough to remind the Seeker who was in charge. As the red-blue frame draped over the smaller one, Optimus made sure to slid his spike between the black thighs, rubbing over the dripping valve with the buzzing, vibrating toy inside… but he drew back before reaching the rigid, quivering black spike.

Megatron felt marvellous vibrations on his spike as the Seeker moaned and occasionally whimpered around his length. His concentration was nonexistent now, his glossa actually trembling as he licked and kissed mindlessly, the fluids long cleaned off of the black spike. Megatron pressed the helm downwards again, encouraging the flier to take his spike into his mouth. His own vents too picked up the tempo, core temperature rising steadily and he had to stop himself from thrusting up, into the hot, wet mouth.

“Yessss… that’s it, good mech…”

Optimus must have flicked the little toy to its highest setting, because the black Seeker nearly screamed around his spike, his tone jumping quite a few octaves up and Megatron used the opportunity to drive himself fully into his mouth, groaning at the tight, undulating, vibrating feeling that was almost better than any valve. The Seeker nearly incoherent now, Megatron started to frag his mouth outright, keeping the helm in place and bucking up into it. His EM field spread and drank up the frayed, flushed, flickering one of the Seeker, teasingly playing with the edge of Optimus’s lustful one. 

His brother held the flier’s aft in one servo, pumping his own spike with the other. Red and blue optics met over the shaking, hot black frame and the bond opened up fully to let them feel each other’s sensations. They fed the other’s arousal with their own, creating a feedback loop that took them ever higher, fuelled by the Seeker’s hot mouth, his trembling glossa, his begging field, shaking wings – and the blue servo sliding on his own length, pumping it in perfect, ever fastening rhythm with the black spike’s deepening thrusts into the wet heat…

… until their charge crested and threw them over, the bond exploding around them into incoherent whiteness and Megatron’s transfluid burst into the tight intake, holding the helm so close it nearly fused to his crotch plate… and Optimus yelled hoarsely and splattered the black wings and aft with his own fluids in short, jerking bursts, his last surge forward pressing the flier ever tighter onto his brother’s pelvic plates. 

They both panted heavy, tired invents afterwards for nearly a breem before their systems cooled to just _not extremely dangerous_ temperatures. The bond’s feedback always made pleasure grow exponentially and when it climaxed, it was so strong an overload that left even them feel like blown fuses and resetting processors. Megatron never felt his servo so heavy that when he lifted it off the shaking black helm, remembering at last the Seeker between them, taking the brunt of it all.

Even with his servo off, the flier didn’t lift his helm and he was shaking all over, wings clattering and his vocalizer making choked sounds, something between begging and whimpering in pain-pleasure. Of course the device was making him aroused, their strong, hot fields encompassing him made it even worse, and the overloads he felt around him must have been torture on his overstrained systems, denied the relief, the overload of his own. Megatron lifted the helm off his spike, his fluids mostly dribbling out as he tried to babble something.

“Not so cocky now, ehh, little Seeker…?”

“P-p-please…!”

“Would you like something?”

“P-please.. let… me…!”

He looked properly put into his place, all brash arrogance gone in shaking submission and begging and Megatron was tempted to let him have his relief at last. He looked over to Optimus, sitting back heavily, interface array messy again… and his glance fell onto the flier’s offending spike again and the smile curving his lipplates was cruel again.

“Well… you have a job to do again…”

“Actually…” – Optimus’s panting voice joined him, informing him and Skywarp – “he has two.”

Skywarp whimpered again, his middle twisting and humping air as the vibrating toy inside his valve still tortured him with pleasure that, having no outlet was probably acutely painful by this time, but he nodded, small moans bubbling out of his vocalizer.

“The faster you finish… the faster that ring comes off.”

With trembling, shaking wings, the black Seeker bent down again to lick up their fluids from still proudly standing spikes. His own was so rigid that it must have hurt to touch it to anything, be it the berth covers’ softness or their hard, hot frames. 

When they allowed him to overload in the end, it was Skywarp falling offline in the white-hot, melting intensity of his agony-edged supernova-explosion.


	10. Intermezzo II.

_It was too bright. Too nice, clean, quiet and peaceful. Barely two steps into the other place and Starscream was already wracked with painful memories. It was so… wholesome and intact, so much unlike the ruined, eternal darkness of their own world. He envied them for it with all his spark. Why could they have everything while he was left with nothing, not even with his frame and processor his own any more? The window he came up to made him stop and whimper. What he would have given to fly again in that clear, clean sky that was glittering with stars and lit softly by a moon? Everything?_

_Protesting pedes dragged him on. He had a job to do. No time to get nostalgic, to marvel at cityscapes, to remember forgotten memories, to watch the night sky… to feel the taste of freedom. He had to go on. What to bring back as proof… his master was vague at that point so he would have to guess and hope that he did right. Considering that he didn’t know where he was, other than in a palace of sorts, it was kind of hard to formulate a plan. Theoretically he should be in Iacon, the equivalent of his master’s fortress, therefore the seat of power for the twin rulers of this universe._

_That he might run into Megatron… what was him in this place anyway, made him feel even more wretched than the sight of unreachable freedom through the window and made his scarred spark ache with long-gone pain. But the thought of him gave an idea and the slave codes caught on, urging him to get the object for proof he needed and information on this world… his counterpart was high ranking here, he could get into the network and download anything._

_Starscream tore his gaze from the window and started down on the corridor, following instinct coupled with parallels with his own world. Checking the doors he soon found a terminal he could use and marvelled that it gave him the layout of the Palace even without hacking, just on a simple query… they were this naïve in this place? But it gave nothing more interesting and the Seeker was soon on his way, on yet another deserted corridor…._

_…until something, a queer instinct made him look up, seeking something that touched him, but wasn’t there. Something he hasn’t felt for a long time…_


	11. Small hours

Skywarp onlined to various aches and pains all over his frame, courtesy of blown relays from the spectacular overload, groaning as the small errors scrolled through his HUD. His self-repair would fix them all in a breem, but they were still a damned annoyance. His memory banks supplying him the events that caused them make him online even faster. A dark helm lifted from the berth covers that nearly buried him, the powerful fields nearby telling him that the Lords have not gone anywhere either. More than that they were still up and active, unlike himself, who felt like cold slag warmed over.

That slagging denied overload was awful and Skywarp dearly hoped that they wouldn’t do it again. Okay, so he had been warned that releasing his spike would not be taken well, now he remembered it and the lesson has hammered home how serious that warning was. But how was he to keep that in processor while fragging felt so good? Skywarp didn’t have a preference for valve or spike, he enjoyed both, like most Seekers. Usually it wasn’t a problem… but it also meant that his arousal presented itself in both interface equipment, somewhat inconvenient under the circumstances. 

For a nanoklik the question flashed through his processor whether the Lords felt pleasure in their valve or none at all… but then he tried to chase that thought far-far away when he felt his spike twitch in its chamber. He wouldn’t find it out anyway. They would probably kill him first…

“Come on, Seeker, it’s too early to recharge yet!”

A servo grabbed his right wingtip and pulled. Skywarp went with it obediently enough – the strength he felt would be quite enough to tear his wing off should it choose to do so. 

“I heard more about the stamina of Seekers!”

The Lord Prime’s voice was playful, but the sentiment still stung Skywarp’s pride and made him forget – again – to be polite and deferential. 

“I’m not tired!”

“Good, because I want you still…” – the Lord Prime purred as he drew Skywarp over his frame, those strong servos positioning him over the still rock-solid, twitching spike. – “Let’s see how long you can last…”

The lustful field enveloped Skywarp and made him want nothing more than grind down, onto that large spike again, to let it stretch him and fill him… but the servos on his hip held him fast and only that blunt head entered into his valve, stretching the entrance nicely but teasing him with wanting more. Kneeling over the large frame, straddling him, Skywarp nearly whimpered as he tried to push down, to take more in… but he couldn’t. 

“Patience…” – the deep voice was slightly panting, so the position was at least taking its tool on the Prime as well…

And when the servos moved his hips in little circles, the first moans fell from his vocalizer and joined to the Prime’s. It was still barely more than teasing, but those groves on the spike were divine on his sensors, on his entrance, on the sensitive little platelets that tried to pull the thick spike in. Skywarp leaned forward, his own servos raking over the grille he knew to be sensitive, slightly trembling digits curling into the slats, sliding over the metal.

He was rewarded by a few more inches of the spike rocking into him, his frame lowered ever so slowly onto it. Skywarp has never been one to prefer slow penetration and it was maddening, even as it was marvellous too; he wanted the spike slam into him, make his valve sensors explode with sensations and ram into the ceiling node to shatter him over and over again… but there was something in this teasing, slow penetration too, something that took his vents away and made him moan nearly continuously. Never before he felt his valve sensors fired up one by one, each a crest of pleasure in a deep ocean of teasing lust.

And it never seemed to end. The calipers opened one by one to admit the thick spike, caressing its length and those twisting ridges and it felt like there was always one more satisfied caliper, one more excited sensor, one more inch after glorious inch that stretched him wide. Frag, Skywarp thought dazedly, spike, no matter the actual size has never felt this long, this thick, this wonderful. But he would still prefer it faster.

But it did end after a while, and when it knocked into the ceiling node, the surge of pleasure that flashed through his frame was just as great as it would be in a faster approach. But still he wasn’t allowed to move and Skywarp’s moan turned into a slight whine, while he was trying to grind his frame down, to circle, to move… anything to make it more, to make it better. The servos on his hips were strong enough to dent and restrained his lower half completely. His wings spread out high behind him and trembled with all his pent up frustration coupled with pleasure.

Black servos tried to coax more reaction from the Prime’s frame, the clawtips out now to prick small wounds on the sensitive grille, the sturdy glass and the vents in front of him. He leaned forward, laying onto the larger frame, trembling glossa following his digits and licking up the droplets of energon he drew. The strong purring from underneath told him that the Prime was heating up too, but the servos still held his hips fast.

It was all the more shocking to feel strong digits from behind, circling his valve entrance, caressing the platelets around the spike stretching them wide. The darker, heavier field of Lord Megatron leaned over him, one servo sliding up on his backstruts and out to his wing, while the other slid on his interface array, flicking the outer nub playfully, before dipping beside the spike briefly. The spike imbedded in him gave a surge that was totally unexpected and strange as it didn’t physically move, and made him shout out in shocked pleasure. 

Laughing purr greeted his shout and the digit popped in, beside the still unmoving spike. The valve sensors welcomed the movement and the way it tweaked every node as it slid in, as deep as it could. When it moved around the spike, circling it and the platelets around, Skywarp thought he might loose it there and then, it was so fragging intense. He held himself together with sheer force of will, wanting still more than tiny little movements, teasing and each sensor pleasured one by one. 

“You want more…? You’ll get more soon… “

Apparently he babbled aloud again, because the dark, deep purr answered him from behind, and another digit slid in, smearing the lubricant everywhere around his entrance which didn’t even feel tight any more. Then the actual words reached Skywarp’s processor and he shuddered a little, arousal toned down a bit, because he was sure what Lord Megatron meant… and though taking two spikes was nothing he hasn’t done before, taking two _such huge_ spikes was no mean feat. 

When he felt the servos around his hips loosen a little, Skywarp circled his hips around the spike and the digits, helping them to stretch his valve even more. The Prime’s spike gave short, sharp little thrusts now, derailing his thoughts all the time and making him moan as lubricant gushed out, onto the digits that were three now, pumping into him with gusto… It was more like it, he thought, not like that eternal slowness, however arousing it was. 

When the digits felt comfortable around the spike, when he felt fine moving around them – then they disappeared and the spike itself pulled out almost completely… and for an eternal nanoklik Skywarp wanted them back… but in the next klik the other spike’s hard presence made itself felt beside the one already inside and he spread his legs even more until they felt like sticking out straight to the side. Taut wings trembled high as the stretch was nearly unbearable, despite the careful preparations. Skywarp threw his helm backwards and trilled higher than his usual register. Even without a force behind it, the spike was nearly too much… the sheer size making it burning and feeling like he was split in half.

_No, no… yes, yes… more, stop, want, no, yesyes_ … words swirled in his processor, half wanting the marvellous stretch, half fearing its pain-tinged pleasure… and they were less than halfway inside his valve, small, little pushes forcing them inward, but giving him time to relax too, to take them without injury. There was a burning from the entrance platelets and the calipers so wide open they wanted to reset, jerked and tried again, unsuccessfully... but it never went beyond that burn, never to the feared sharp agony of tearing.

Even in the haze of pain still covering his processor, that was more pleasure than pain now he still felt his wings caressed gently, the ailerons massaged and tweaked to countermand the painful filling up. It was good and Skywarp’s processor grasped onto the pleasurable sensations, rather than the nearly unbearable stretch in his valve, the inexorable push inside from the two mechs sandwiching him between themselves, their fields swamping him again with pleasure not his own but affecting him nevertheless, their strong servos holding him in place to take their pleasure from his frame…

Inch by burning inch the spikes thrust and slid in and lubricant oozed out to make their way easier. Every little way they made inside, the burning lessened and Skywarp could feel the valve sensors conveying the stretch and rub as good, rather than painful. He still didn’t dare to move; not that that he could do much between the larger frames, but it still felt like he would be ripped in two if he made the slightest move.

He still couldn’t believe when the slow, careful thrusting stopped with the spikes fully inside him… _impossible, unbelievable, amazing, fraggingPrimusonahovercraft_ … and Skywarp ex-vented a long, shuddering breath of hot air because it was, no, not ended yet but he took two _slagging_ huge spikes and they didn’t rip him apart and unbelievably, the pain lessened all the time to give way to a satisfied, _completely filled_ feeling that was not even half bad. Three sets of roaring vents tried to keep their temperatures within acceptable parameters – and failing in Skywarp’s case, in between the larger frames.

It became even better from then on, when they started to move and so intense feeling flooded his valve that he whimpered again at the onslaught of sensations, the vying sensory nodes that conveyed the stretch, the rub, the heat inside him and his processor translated it all to _ohsofraginggreat_ … The Prime hardly even moved, his shallow, fast thrusts barely even moved his spike, but those elaborate groves and ridges still stimulated him more than he’d thought it possible. Lord Megatron on the other servo thrust in deep and hard, slower but far more forceful and his spike didn’t have to be elaborate, because it rammed into him and shattered him every fragging time. 

He spiralled to the height faster than ever, the double sensations, the two-toned pleasure in his valve was too much to contain. He barely even felt the kiss that muffled his moans and the wings that got strong servos on them and usually he would be a writhing mess from those alone. He screamed into the Prime’s mouth when he overloaded, frame going so rigid like a statue and gripping those spikes with a vice-like grip when the imploding climax took him. 

But when his grip on them loosened and Skywarp gulped hot air into his shaky vents, the thrusts continued, with a grumbling, panting laugh from above and a chuckling, purring voice answering to it from underneath. His valve was accommodating them now with ease, the lubricant-covered walls gripping the spikes with force but not the helplessly afraid kind like before. He was even able to ripple the calipers somewhat, eliciting a growling appreciation from Lord Megatron and a stronger thrust from Lord Optimus. 

They were almost, but not quite in rhythm, the thrusts gliding on each other, the offset making him mad with incoherent pleasure as the sensor nodes couldn’t adjust, couldn’t anticipate the next sensation that glided over them unexpectedly, always throwing him back into cresting, never letting the building charge to dissipate the slightest. Skywarp wanted to move with those amazing thrusts, but he couldn’t, half-squashed as he was between the Lords’ large frames. All he could do was to reciprocate the kiss ravaging his mouth and his own servos blindly scratching some plate under them.

Again overload crashed through his systems, leaving him limp and dazed, feeling only with half a processor as his charge started to accumulate straight again, as his valve was pounded by those rock-hard spikes, as their tempo built up his pleasure yet again as their smothering field whipped all around him… it was nearly too much and way too intense, even for the daring, experienced berth-hopper Seeker Skywarp knew himself to be.

The thrusts were vicious now that his valve could take it, each one pushing him higher and higher again, until all he could do was to hang on and take it all. Even the muffled sounds he made so far were silenced by his weakening system, vocalizer spitting hissing static only that got completely overwhelmed by the much louder pants, moans and growls from around him. It couldn’t go on far longer, he hoped and it didn’t; one more thrust knocking at the far end of his valve, a roar that shook him even in his half-daze, and hot transfluid burst into him like a tidal wave.

He might have yelled – or just wanted to as he climaxed the third time, the overload wringing out much of his reserves that still remained – but he still felt the other roar from underneath and the second burst of a hot surge that flowed out and dripped all around him. The sounds shook him almost as much ad his own overload, wings painful as they tried to flare up but were restrained by the hot frame over him. Skywarp desperately tried to gulp some air to cool down before he melted, but there was pitifully little coolness around them. 

He shook and tried to collect himself for breems before the heavy weight above him deigned to move and one spike slid out of him, leaving stinging micro-tears, raw valve walls, burning platelets and shocked sensory nodes behind. A large servo caressed his wings one more time and they tiredly flicked… or rather tried to, but his strength only managed a weak twitch from them.

“That was… extremely satisfying, See… Skywarp.”

Lord Megatron’s voice was panting and breathless, shaking a tiny bit and Skywarp felt a little triumph at having put that slight tremble there. Even if his voice wasn’t any better…

“For m-me too…” – he groaned back, acutely feeling the need for a cube of energon. Or several before he could lift himself off of the Lord Prime.

“Same here…” – his voice was deep and smooth, sated and satisfied even with the unmistakable signs of tiredness in it. 

Their pile came apart with many groans and shudders as oversensitive parts and systems rubbed on each other. Skywarp flopped down on the crumpled covers, for a time unwilling – and quite unable – to anything more strenuous than that. Legs still wide apart, as his hip joints felt like taking up a new configuration, messy, still dripping valve obscenely open to the world – the cooler air in the room was a blessing on it really – and even his wings hardly twitching… Skywarp felt wrung out in the most pleasant way, even if it hurt a little still.

But the cube of truly fine high grade, pressed into his servo was very welcome.


	12. Intermezzo  III.

_“Red Alert to Thundercracker.”_

_…_

_“Red Alert to Thundercracker.”_

_…_

_“I… uhh… Thundercracker here. Are we attacked or what? It is the middle of the dark cycle, Red Alert.”_

_“Is the Air Commander offworld?”_

_“Who…? Starscream?”_

_“The one. I wasn’t aware of another Air Commander.”_

_“I am acting Air Commander, you know?_

_“Repeat: Is Starscream offworld?”_

_“Yeah, he is. Why do you need him? Actually, why don’t you call **him**?”_

_“Then what is he doing in corridor 23F, leading to the Lords berthchamber?”_

_“He… he is what?”_

_“Patching through security camera GH45alfa to your console.”_

_Thundercracker clambered out of his berth, shook out his wings and stood in front of his terminal screen. As Red Alert told him, it was showing the camera picture he specified, the corridor that should be by rights empty. But in the middle of it stood the unmistakable figure of his Trine leader, though his posture was somewhat strange in ways Thundercracker, just onlined from recharge couldn’t quite grasp._

_“He doesn’t answer to comm.” – The Security Director’s voice intruded to his thoughts again – “Not even an automatic ping. So I must ask you, Acting Air Commander: is that your Trine leader or an impostor?”_

_Thundercracker tried to access the bond with Starscream but it was still just the same, quiet presence only as it was since the tricoloured Seeker left the vicinity of the planet._

_“It is not…” – he paused as the bond twanged painfully, like it has never done before. But it came from the figure on the screen who suddenly lifted his helm and the dark faceplates he knew so well turned towards the hidden camera – “Or maybe… I don’t know.”_

_He’s never, ever seen such a stark, bitter **hopelessness** on Starscream’s faceplates._


	13. Dawn

Skywarp wasn’t quite sure how or when he got down on his knees again, licking Lord Megatron’s spike clean – the triple overload dazed him quite bad and the strong high-grade cubes he tossed back hit him like a shuttle-launch would a minibot – but he still didn’t remember either standing up from the berth, or getting down to where he was now. The pool with nice though, the warm solvent that lapped at his tired, aching frame was a surprise too, albeit a welcome one. It barely even stung the slight tears on his valve entrance.

But then, what did it matter that he didn’t remember? He was there and he had that large, black spike in his mouth, glossa teasing its underside while his denta grazed to still titanium-hard upper ridges and his servos kneaded the tense thight-cables where those large limbs joined the black frame. Secretly, he envied that stamina, after the whole night’s worth of playing – he was no slouch, but it was still amazing. 

Just like the Lord Prime, he thought when he was unceremoniously grabbed from behind – again! – and the other spike thrust into him with a single, forceful shove, making him squeak around the black spike with what would have been _ohfragnotagain_ , had he been able to speak. He really didn’t mind valve play and penetration, he truly didn’t. But it was getting too much and he felt ruined for a single spike now anyway, after taking two just breems ago. Or was it more? Skywarp wasn’t really sure of the time, but the slight lightening in the outside darkness did mean that more time has gone than he was aware of.

The forceful thrusts pushed him forward and he was forced to take more of the black spike too into his mouth. Rather into his intake, he thought wryly, swallowing around the length to avoid the gag reflex. Lord Megatron, it seemed was perfectly content to let his brother do all the work for him and push Skywarp onto his spike, for he didn’t move a single plate or limb as he lay sprawled in the shallow end of the pool. Only his strong purring betrayed that he was online and the slight twitches of his spike. 

Ohh, but it was so different than that slow, maddeningly teasing slow penetration before… the elaborately ridged spike gave another taste of pleasure to him as the twisting lines and embedded jewels rode hard and fast over his sensory nodes, eliciting a different kind of response from every one of them… no other spike in his life made Skywarp feel anything quite like it. It was almost like… tickling, just far stronger and infinitely more pleasurable. But it did have the playful, unexpected, continuously varied feeling of a tickle too. Definitely unusual, he groaned around the spike in his intake, sliding in and out with the rhythm of the thrusts from behind. 

It didn’t take long to build up his charge again, not with the forceful, deep thrusts and the varied stimulation of the valve nodes. All too soon Skywarp’s wings were flaring up sharply and his valve constricted around the Prime’s spike… and all it took was a strong thrust that knocked on the ceiling node to make him keen and overload – and his climax pushed the Lord Prime into one his own as well. Transfluid burst into his valve… and down his intake too, though Skywarp hardly noticed that while whimpering in post-overload haze.

“Aaaaaahhhhh…”

A servo slapped his aft playfully as the Prime pulled out and let him kneel up.

“Good Seeker…” – the smirk was audible in his tone as he, too flopped down in the warm solvent – “… good, tight valve, nice, talented glossa…”

“You are no slouch yourself… umm… s-sorry…”

Skywarp wanted to sink under the solvent in embarrassment, but the laughs told him that the Lords didn’t take his idiot sentiment as impolite. To cover the blunder, he pulled closer a platter of energon treats and offered it around, picking some for himself in the process. They were really tasty, even more so than the dimly remembered ones he had had in his youth… of course belonging to a low caste, he never got really expensive treats, only the cheap ones. But even then he had had more than in Kaon. The sweet, tangy taste suddenly turned bitter as he thought of the dark grounder city, completely forgetting that he didn’t have to go back there. There was something about a compensation, was there not? Maybe it would be enough for awhile, Skywarp mused fleetingly as he nabbed energon treat after energon treat from the platter. 

It was nice to just lay sprawled in the warm solvent, letting the aches and slight burns slowly dissipate and the mess dissolve from their plating. Skywarp wasn’t sure when or how the activities end – he paid as little attention to that part as he did for the whole thing. Though the windows showed the dawn fast approaching in a colourful display, there was nothing in the Lords’ behaviour to tell him that it was over. Sure, they too were flopped out in the pool as himself, but – Skywarp peeked towards them covertly - they looked ready to continue. Well… their spikes were anyhow.

True enough, he wasn’t even finished with his thoughts when the Lord Prime rose to his elbows, pulled himself up, to the edge of the pool, solvent flowing down his great frame as he got closer to the supine Seeker. Once he was close enough, a blue servo started to pet his cockpit and Skywarp suddenly remembered something that he was told… well, spark play wasn’t something he often indulged in – Seekers notoriously kindled easily and it was frowned upon in the Academy. Still, he was to obey, so with a little hesitation and some misgivings he let the cockpit and the underlying armour retract and expose the still close spark chamber.

But he didn’t expect the Lord Prime freeze at the first sight of his crystal and snatch his servo away like it burned.

“Close it up.” – he was ordered by the growling Lord Megatron, rising between him and the statue of the Prime, like an angry demon, water cascading down his dark frame. – “There won’t be any spark-play.”

“S-sure…” – he answered fearfully, wings drooping to show his obedience and his armour closed so fast it actually clanged together. An angry Lord High Protector was not something he would want against him. But wasn’t the Lord Prime starting it…?

“You may go now.” – another curt order, growled in a stormy voice and Lord Megatron wasn’t even looking at him, wading in the solvent to his bondmate. 

Skywarp scrambled out of the pool, completely confused the sudden drop in temperature and mood, but eager to put space between himself and the Lords in a bad mood. Wings carefully kept low and behind him he retreated from the pair still in the bath, apparently not paying him any more attention. When the door unlocked and slid open, he ex-vented a little air in relief and – still not daring to turn his wings on them – stepped out backwards into the corridor. Only when the door slid shut and the lock echoed in the silent hallway he dared to let his wings rise and murmur a _whatthefragwasthat_ to himself. 

**“SKYWARP!”**

He almost teleported. Or, well, he wanted to, but since it was still locked down, Skywarp jumped in one place like a frightened sparkling at the sudden shout. Who the frag in this slagging Palace knew him and what did they want now?

“Skywarp…!” – the next shout was marginally less loud and a tiny bit less shrill and raspy but it held such a longing that it completely confused Skywarp. Who the frag this Seeker was and what did he want? - “You are alive…”

“Uhh… of course…” – did the Lords deactivate mechs so it was so surprising that he survived? Skywarp suddenly felt like the ground opened up under him. Was he in danger still? What the Pit did they do in this palace? Kinky orgies with dead mechs? – “…and who are you?”

Instead of an answer he got a tricoloured Seeker around his neck, hugging him desperately, nearly suffocating, babbling incoherently about _thank Primus_ and _found you again_ and such nonsense. Skywarp felt completely stupefied but for some reason unwilling to remove the leech-like mech’s arms from around him. His wings signalled such joy… no matter who he was, it wasn’t in the black Seeker to break the apparent joy of the mech. And he wasn’t bad-looking either…

“Starscream!”

He tried to turn towards the authoritative voice ringing from the end of the corridor, but the Seeker who kept hugging him suddenly froze with his arms around him, making him unable to move without force which he didn’t want to use. Yet. Since the yelled word wasn’t his designation, Skywarp surmised that it was the other’s, whose arms locked unmoving around him, the joyful embrace turning into desperate hanging on.

“Starscream…?”

Or not. Okay, Skywarp thought, he was crazy all right, but then everymech else in the palace was a bit mad too. Shuffling a bit in the still frozen embrace he got a look of yet another Seeker standing a little way off of them, a dark, rich blue one with wings held high and proud, obviously someone high ranking. 

“Umm… I’m Skywarp… nice to meetcha’…”

He told to both of them, though they looked more interested in each other than his designation and ruthlessly repressed the little, unexplained longing in his spark towards that blue Seeker that surprised the Pit out of him. Instead he focused on the still embracing tricoloured one around him. It wasn’t a bad thing to be hugged, but… well, he would like to know what the frag is going on.

“ummm… could you, well, you know, let me go… uhh… Starscream? If… that is you…? I’m not sure where do you know me from… ummm… I mean if I should remember you, then sorry, but… I don’t. Umm.”

“Sorry…” – it was barely a whisper from the unknown Seeker and slowly, unwillingly his arms loosened around him. He looked like struggling with some inner force, the battle almost visible on his dark faceplates – “I… mistook you… for some other Seeker…”

“But I am Skywarp.” – he was sure the mech said his name and there weren’t any other Seeker with that designation.- “And you are… Starscream?”

“Ye… NO! I’m not!”

Skywarp nearly snorted. The denial was about as sincere as he was when denying a prank he did. He was sure that the mech was Starscream, even more so since that insincere denial.

“You look like him. You sound like him. You _feel like him_.”

The blue Seeker came closer, his voice tentative and unsure; but he was watching the tricoloured on with an intense look Skywarp didn’t really want to feel turned towards him. It was a look the harshest Academy instructors wore when he did something bad. He was almost glad that the stranger left him fully and retreated a few steps, but the mech’s drooping, sad wings were still a torture to watch.

“Who are you?” – the blue Seeker demanded again, and from his arm plating blasters folded out, pointing at the tricoloured Seeker. – “Or should I ask what did you do with _my_ Starscream?”

The sudden transformation surprised them both from the so far nearly frozen mech and the blue Seeker’s shot missed the target, only singeing a tip of one white wing as its owner sped down the corridor, barely above his helm, making him duck or be pulled by the slipstream. Skywarp just stared and wished to be on the streets again. They might, after all be safer, he thought, than this crazy palace.

But the jet didn’t go far. The palace corridors were not made with Seekers in alt mode in processor, they were sectioned with ornate doors fashioned to mechs walking on the ground that had to be opened manually. And the next one was already open, with a throng of guards blocking it. The white jet transformed, landed and might have wanted to say or do something, but a beam of energy caught him and he fell to the ground limp, without a sound.

Silence again reigned on the corridor, broken by the Lords’s door opening and Megatron, alerted by the shot standing in it, the Lord Prime hovering behind him, both of them frowning. Yet again Skywarp wished fervently for his teleport device, or just being invisible, or very small… he was too small a mech to be in the middle of whatever fragging problems the rulers of Cybertron had with impostors and mistaken identities. 

“What is going on here?”

The blue Seeker broke the frozen tableau, crossing over to the fallen Seeker and turning him to his back. His faceplates were thoughtful as he checked the mech over with quick motions, frowning slightly as he went on. When he finished he stood and reported to the Lords like he did that every orn. Come to think of it, Skywarp mused, he might do just that. He did look the kind to be a high ranking officer.

“Lord Megatron. We caught this impostor on the cameras. He looks like Commander Starscream… “ – the formal voice trembled a little but Thundercracker ex-vented and schooled it again – “… but in fact he is just very similar. There are little differences, others wouldn’t notice.”

The way he said that lit a light in Skywarp’s processor. The blue Seeker and the real Starscream must be mates, either trine or bondmates. 

“He will be questioned.”

Another mech came forward, a mostly red grounder with a nervous and twitchy composition.

“And that Seeker too!” – he pointed to Skywarp, drawing everyone’s attention to him. It made the black Seeker very nervous.

“Why me? I don’t even know him!”

“He knew your name and looked very glad to see you.” – the blue Seeker added, faceplates suddenly frowning and serious. – “Red Alert is right, he should be questioned.”

 _Well, frag..._ was all Skywarp could think of.

“Sir…” – one of the guardsmechs spoke up as they lifted the limp frame from the ground – “He is injured. Should we call a medic too?”

“Ratchet should be in the small med-center nearby. He was expecting the Seeker soon.” – Lord Megatron added and not even the red mech dared to argue with him, though he apparently wished to. The group of them started down the corridor, the guards carrying the stranger, the blue Seeker prodding the nervous Skywarp to follow and the Lords behind them. Skywarp’s hope to get out of this slag in one piece was decreasing all the time in the midst of all the suspicious glances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to completely ignore the differences in colouring between a regular verse and SG. They are close enough so they can recognize each other and that's it. SG Starscream totally misses the blue bits, btw, and SG!Thundercracker makes my eyes melt out, so... there you are.


	14. Daylight

“Put him on that berth and you can leave…”

Ratchet turned and stopped. Instead of the single black Seeker brought by guards that he was expecting there was a veritable throng of mechs crowding into the small med-bay, including not only the one he was told about, but two others as well, Thundercracker holding onto him with Red Alert and also the Lord Prime and Lord Megatron. And the offline one was not the black Seeker but… Starscream?

“What the frag is going on here?”

It was Thundercracker again who took up the duty of explaining. Skywarp started to like the mech, despite the stern demeanor, he looked… well, nice. 

“We caught this Seeker as he was trying to get into the Lords’ berthchamber. He is an impostor, made to look like the Air Commander.”

“And he is here instead of a cell… why?

A nervous-looking guard stepped forward to answer. 

“I hit him with a three-nanoklik stun shot and he should have onlined in a breem, but he is still out cold, and looks damaged too.”

The royal medic turned to the limp frame on the berth, his scanner sweeping over him in practiced motions, optics widening as he read the display. By the time he ended the firs scan he was already in full professional mode, plugging into the Seeker through a medical port and cursing low under his vents.

“What is it, Ratchet?”

Lord Optimus Prime came forward to ask him. Megatron growled and followed him, but even he didn’t consider an offline mech to be dangerous. Skywarp tried to be so small as to not even there – but failing in it as the strong grip of the blue Seeker showed. He didn’t protest the grip, in fact, he didn’t protest the blue Seeker’s nearness either. Maybe it was an effect from a full night-cycle’s worth of interfacing, but he definitely felt… _warming up_ at the closeness…

“Well… how did he get this bad so fast?” – Ratchet answered with a question of his own, his servos already removing plates and fixing surprisingly damaged-looking, dirty and in some places _rusted_ parts underneath – “He is Starscream, and he was perfectly fine three orns ago when I last checked him.”

“H-he _can’t_ be!” – they all heard the nervousness in Thundercracker’s tone. The newly trined Seeker looked nearly speechless and very much freaked out by his supposedly bonded trine-leader whom he still didn’t feel in his spark.

“Well, he is by the spark frequency. Though a lot of parts are different.” – Ratchet was visibly busy and they could all see how bad the tricoloured Seeker was under the superficially whole outer armour – “And he has slave coding active and don’t ask me how they got here.”

“Slave… what?”

“The very thing you outlawed gigavorns ago, Optimus.” – the medic was still hardlined to the Seeker and while fixing his outer injuries, his focus was obviously on the inside, but he nodded to direct their attention to the supine Seeker’s neck. The collar wasn’t all that visible, but from up close it was unmistakable – “…and a nasty one I might add. It resists my efforts to deactivate it vehemently…”

“I haven’t had any report of it being employed again for almost as long.”

The Lord Prime was serious and upset. Megatron was angry because Optimus was upset and their collective bad mood seemed to affect the rest of the mechs present too. The blue Seeker quietly ordered the guardsmechs out, guessing that whatever the matter was it was sensitive enough so the less mechs knew about it, the better. Besides Ratchet had the unknown Seeker restrained on the berth, so the only remaining source of danger was the one he knew to be low on energon, lacking weapons and his teleport device offlined. 

“What I don’t quite get is how it could have gone so deep into his own codes so fast… was he captured by some enemy?”

Skywarp for his part understood nothing and it freaked out him, but he still tried to show that he was no danger. Lowering his wings even further he glanced at the blue Seeker holding onto his arm and felt a little thrill in his spark that was completely surprising under the circumstances. Almost like… nah, he warned himself, don’t go there. He is a noble, military and high ranking anyway. He wouldn’t consider somemech like Skywarp, a nobody, no, even worse, a plaything for others…

“We don’t know.” – it was Thundercracker answering hesitantly – “Starscream is… well, he should be off planet and I can’t feel our bond open, like it should feel if it was himself here.”

“So you say it is not him?”

“There are other things, little differences as well…” – but the blue Seeker looked unsure of himself. The rest of them could offer no arguments either pro or contra.

“You! Do you know this mech?” – he suddenly looked at Skywarp who jumped a little at the angry tone and answered quickly.

“I swear, I never seen him! He just jumped onto me, called me by my designation and said something like how glad he is that I’m alive! I swear I don’t know who he is!”

None of them present looked very much convinced by his words and Skywarp started to freak out again. Would they throw him into prison for something he didn’t even understand?

“There!” – the medic spoke up suddenly, sounding inordinately pleased with himself – “The slave codes are deactivated, though I’ll still have to check later to make sure they are fully purged.”

“If he is in no danger, then bring him online, Ratchet.” – Megatron wanted to get the bottom of it all and it seemed that the mystery Seeker was the only one who could provide the answers. – “It’s high time we heard some facts instead of speculations.’

“He is still in a bad way, but not in danger… he should online in a breem.”

Ratchet continued to fix the damage under the white armour after he took the collar off, and only stopped when the Seeker on the med-berth started to move. He stepped away from the berth to give the mech some space. Still, when the optic shutters opened he jerked strongly within the restraints and his faceplates conveyed stark terror at the sight of the medic.

“NO…!” – it was a shout so fearful, hopeless and sad that no mech present could listen to it without a wince. It was Lord Megatron who shook it off first and moved closer, his deep voice stern but not angry.

“What is your designation, Seeker?”

The dark faceplates were a study as they changed at the sight of the Lord High Protector. From wide-opticked, incredulous surprise he moved to fearful mistrust, then hesitant disbelief and then the lipplates fell open and vented a little sigh of an emotion Skywarp couldn’t name and apparently the others neither. He sure didn’t expect the pale pink drops of tears either that slowly rolled from the blue optics. But at the end he appeared to look inward again, perhaps discovering the lack of the collar and when he looked up it was like he changed completely.

“I’m… Starscream.”

“Impossible…” - the blue Seeker whispered from beside Skywarp and the red glance fell to him.

“Thundercracker…!” – he almost moaned, optics widening again in surprise, sadness and… hope?

“How did you get back then, why in secret, and what is this business with the slave codes in you? And all that damage? And where is the bond???”

“I’m Starscream… but not the one you know.” – the Seeker lifted his helm and looked at them all as they came closer to the berth, his glance stopping at Optimus Prime. The nanoklik long terror was unmistakable in them, but he covered up the reaction fast. - “I’m from another universe, a parallel timeline. It is… very different from yours.”

Optimus Prime waved his brother away and stepped closer. He didn’t miss the fearful twitch of the wings this time either, nor the futile effort of the mech trying to draw away from him within the restraints.

“Is it, by any chance the one where I… where my counterpart rules alone and ruthlessly destroys all who dare to oppose him?”

“Yes…” – the answer was barely more than a whisper – “You saw it too?”

“I have seen one such, yes.” – he looked sad but like somemech believing what he heard. – “He’s seen us too, I take it.”

“He forced me to build a portal here! I couldn’t disobey him then… but the codes are gone now…” – he whispered with a small smile on those dark lipplates and Skywarp felt again some kind of a… lurch in his spark.

“My medic deactivated the codes before we let you online. They are illegal here.”

“Thank you…” – the tone was full of gratitude, but his optics still held a little fear when the Lord Prime moved and only disappeared when Megatron joined him by the berth.

“Why?”

“Megatron…?” – his tone held wonder, sadness but disbelief too, until the Lord High Protector nodded – “He would want to conquer your world too. Ours is… gutted, depleted and destroyed already. He doesn’t build… only uses up worlds and destroys.”

“Where is this portal and how does it work?”

“It is in this palace and only works for one mech at a time. I was supposed to bring him back information about your world and then build a bigger portal. He wouldn’t come through before I returned… he is quite paranoid that way, doesn’t trust anything.”

“How can we be sure that you don’t still work for him?”

“I’d never work for him! But I had no choice…” – the shrill voice rose up until they all winced and gone nearly to a whisper by the end. – “You saw the slave codes…”

“Yes, I can attest that they were authentic… much as it disgusts me, they were active and dictating his actions.”

Ratchet added his bit to the facts collecting slowly. He also didn’t miss the reaction from the Seeker and tried very hard not to imagine his own counterpart that made somemech like Starscream flinch in terror at his sight. But Red Alert was not so easy to convince.

“But you can still work for him, even with the codes gone! Lord Prime, Lord Megatron, we can’t trust him!”

“Why would I work for somemech who killed all I had?” – the voice became shriller and tinged with desperation.

“That’s why you were so glad that I was still alive…?” – Skywarp didn’t mean to whisper that aloud, but apparently he did – and it drew all attention to him again.

“Who is he to you?”

Starscream looked confused for a klik before the meaning of Thundercracker’s question became clear.

“He is… he was Trine…” – he answered softly, sadness clear in his lines – “like you. In my world, you both were deactivated by… “ – he gulped and glanced at Optimus Prime – “…by his counterpart. My Master.”

Skywarp became aware that his jaw was hanging and he forgot to ex-vent for some kliks. Trine? He? With THEM? – “Impossible…” – The blue Seeker looked at him like he was echoing that statement.

“Is he not… here?”

“I’ve never seen him before.” – Thundercracker kept his servo on Skywarp’s arm, but his look made the black Seeker want to disappear.

Starscream’s strange, blue optics wandered from one of them to the other, disbelief still etched into his lines, but tinged with hopefulness too. It took him a visible effort to turn his attention back to the Lords.

“I can make the portal turn into a dead end, or even affix a stasis field to capture anyone coming through. Or it can be destroyed… I didn’t leave notes there and I doubt those monsters can duplicate my work.”

“Why would we trust you to do any of that?”

Red Alert was his usual, paranoid self, but this time there were others agreeing with his sentiment. Thundercracker and Megatron nodded and even Optimus Prime looked less than completely supporting the stranger. He, after all saw their universe and the mechs that inhabited it… 

“Well, you admitted coming here to spy and eventually invade our world. It is not something that would make us trust you.”

Starscream looked strangely accepting their suspicion, without a fight or arguments. The sad optics slid down from their faceplates and he whispered again. It convinced them all more than anything else he’s said that he really wasn’t the Starscream they knew. 

“I see… but please, do something fast. They must not come through to here…!”

“You can be sure of that.” – Megatron wowed, his plates flaring at the thought of a threat to the world he protected… and in some measure because he realized that he would have to defend his world from a version of Optimus Prime…

“…and please…. Please don’t send me back!” – it was spark-breaking to hear Starscream beg. 

Thundercracker, for all his misgivings couldn’t see the counterpart of his trine-leader, his mate reduced to this. Dragging Skywarp with him, he stepped closer to the berth and hesitantly put a servo on the white plating. When the blue optics turned towards him and the dark lips drew to a smile he started to pet the arm. Skywarp for his part was bemused still and unsure if he should do something or not, but he opted not to try and comfort a stranger. Even though he knew him. Or something. Slag, it was confusing for the Seeker.

“We won’t do that. There would be no point in sending you back, whether you are a spy or honest.” – Megatron added, already planning how to go on from here – “You’ll be in custody until we can determine your intentions. You can start to convince us by describing your portal in detail so our scientists can work on it.” 

Starscream nodded, faceplates closed, neutral now, only betraying an emotion when he glanced at the other two Seekers. He was let up from the table, Ratchet confirming that he’d done what he wanted to, handcuffed and led to a secure cell.

“Hey!? Why me too?” – Skywarp complained when Thundercracker started to drag him too after the procession – “I should be going my way now, right?”

Skywarp wanted nothing else than be out of the place, forget the whole night and go on with his life. Poor as it was he still preferred it to kinky and insatiable Lords and complete strangers smothering him in embraces. Not to mention totally ridiculous and impossible claims towards noble Seekers. But it didn’t look as though they would just let him go…

“No.” – Optimus Prime shook his helm – “take him to a cell too.”

“But why?”

Skywarp was desperate. For frag’s sake, he was completely innocent this time! He looked from one to the other, but hasn’t seen any sympathy for his pledge. Thundercracker looked a bit apologetic, but he was more concerned by Starscream than a noname Seeker he never met before. It was the Lord High Protector answering him.

“You heard too much to just let go.”

“I would never tell anything!” – well, at least he would promise everything to get out of this palace.

“No. You won’t. We’ll decide later what to do with you.”

“Hey!” – Skywarp shouted after them as he was dragged behind the much more compliant and quieter tricoloured Seeker – “What about the contract I signed? I have rights… right?”

Starscream turned his helm back a bit and he seemed to muffle a strange sort of chuckle-snort at that – “Warp… you’re the same everywhere…”

“The contract is a different matter. It is fulfilled, your account has the credits and a medic will see you later if you need one.” – Megatron answered with a strange look to the tricoloured Seeker – “But it is a question of security and we have to decide what to do about it before letting you go free.”

They turned and left while the guards escorted them to the lower levels, towards the prison block. In a few breems Skywarp sat fuming in a cell, on the narrow berth and morosely stared out of the small, barred window in the upper corner and tried to ignore the occupant of the cell opposite on the other side of the aisle. He sort of hated the Seeker now for landing him yet again in prison, no matter how he also felt pity for the other. 

“If it helps any, I’m sorry.”

“It fragging doesn’t! I should be out, drunk and partying from my earned riches!”

Starscream looked up from the datapad he held on which he wrote the particulars of the dimensional gate. His glance was tired, sad still, but still glowing a little with happiness when he looked at the other Seeker.

“”You are like him…”

Skywarp couldn’t stay angry at him and he became curious.

“Your… trine-mate? The… uhhh… other me?”

“Yes… can I ask something… personal?”

“Sure. It is not like we have a lot to do here.”

“You never met Thundercracker… or this world’s Starscream before?”

“Pit no! They are nobles, high ranking. I’m just… just a low-caste nobody.”

“Our Warp was like that, and we still met. At the Academy.”

“Well, they threw me out of the slagging Academy.” – it still hurt, probably the only thing he could never forget – “I couldn’t learn all that spatial stuff to control my teleport jumps.”

Starscream stared at him incredulously, forgetting even the datapad.

“But… why would you need spatial equations to jump? Warp always did it instinctly.”

“That’s the way I do it too…! But they insisted that I had to learn to control it.”

“Ohh… so that’s why we … I mean you and them never met.”

They talked a lot through the remaining joors of the night and well into the next day cycle. Skywarp, once he forgot his resentment came to enjoy the other’s company, far more than he enjoyed any other Seekers he met before – he was normal, if a bit quiet and calm, and not condescending like most others. All too soon it was the day cycle again and with it the worry what would happen to them. At least from Skywarp; the strange, blue-opticked Seeker seemed content to sit in a cell and talk, or make notes on his datapad. They only vaguely noted the guards changing outside the cells, so it was to their surprise when a slightly raspy voice called out towards them loudly.

“So… _you_ would be… _me_?”

The Seeker outside was like a twin to the one inside, only minor details set them apart, most obviously the optics - but their demeanor couldn’t be more different. Skywarp only heard about the Winglord of course, never seen the mech in metal, but he was every bit the noble-born, high-ranking Seeker one would expect of his station. He was standing ramrod straight and proud, white wings high and flared, dark helm held up, optics authoritative and brooking no arguments, lipplates curling slightly down in a sneer.

His counterpart continued to sit on the cell’s berth and kept his own wings down and relaxed, his servos grasping the datapad loosely. He nodded cautiously, blue optics sliding over the other’s frame, noting the differences with interest. Skywarp ruthlessly repressed his fluttering spark and he was glad not to be in the center of the attention – wasn’t it enough to find one high-ranking Seeker attractive, now he would feel the same for the Winglord himself? Could he be any bigger idiot? He blushed when those keen red optics turned towards him.

“And you… _you_ should be in my _Trine_?”

Skywarp could only shrug helplessly at that – and he had a goofy smile on his face that probably didn’t help matters, but he couldn’t quite suppress. 

"’s what he said…”


	15. Megatron

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda longish chapter, because I just couldn't cut it anywhere without loosing the thread. But I think it is not that much of a problem. :-)  
> Also, I've taken some further liberties with canon, but since it is already heavily AU, I think it is not a problem either and I tried to keep every mech in character for their universe. Hopefully I succeeded. :-)

“He can’t do much in a cell and we can keep him there as long as needed.”

Megatron didn’t see any particular complications with their surprise visitor. The Seeker was strangely meek and compliant, especially if compared to his own SIC, but that was making things even easier. The portal that was in a small, unused room was now surrounded by every kind of surveillance that Red Alert could think of and Perceptor was working on it, measuring and trying to find out how it worked. Once the other Starscream gave over the details as he promised, he could start on the problem in earnest. In the meanwhile the scientist was guarded by Ironhide and some of his mechs, so if anything came out of the portal he would be felled before stepping out of it. 

“I can’t help but think about his fate, Megatron. He was a slave, an actual, real, abused slave there! You saw Ratchet’s report on his condition.”

Optimus Prime couldn’t dismiss the matter that easily. It was _his counterpart_ causing the Seeker’s horrible fate and he couldn’t help but feel responsible.

“Yes. I saw it.” – black servos massaged the Prime’s tense shoulders – “It wasn’t you though.”

“I know that too!” – Optimus snapped, but his anger wasn’t directed to Megatron – “It is not a matter of responsibility! I just feel bad for treating him like… like that. That he has to be a prisoner here too…”

“We don’t treat him anything like he got before. But we can’t let him go free either. Not yet anyway.”

“I trust him.” – Optimus turned his helm towards his brother to look into his optics – “He is not lying and he looks desperate to be helpful and prove himself. In that he is like Starscream… I mean the one we know.”

“I sent him to talk with his counterpart as soon as he arrived back. Who is better than he to judge the mech?”

Optimus twisted on the chair fully to face with Megatron and his optics widened slightly. 

“You have a strange sense of humour, brother…”

Megatron glared back but his optics flashed with hidden mirth.

“Humour or not, Starscream is the best to determine his sincerity – and make sense of the data he is going to give to us.”

“Why not yourself? You know Starscream inside out after working with him for gigavorns…”

Megatron sat by Optimus by the table, servo idly toying with a cube of mid-grade from the selection the servants brought them for breakfast. He was frowning slightly and Optimus waited patiently to the explanation. It was, he felt strongly, something important to his mate.

“You noticed how he reacted to each of us, right?”

Optimus nodded, his lines uneasy. If he was perfectly honest, he tried not to remember the Seeker’s fear about most of them. 

“Mostly with terror. It makes me wonder exactly how bad our counterparts are…”

“Mostly, yes. But he looked at me differently. Have you seen my counterpart in the visions?”

Optimus frowned. Now that he thought of it… his brother was among the visions plenty of times, but not this particular world’s Megatron.

“No… no, never. Strange…”

“We are not together there, I guess. Enemies probably. Those red and purple faces you mentioned… they are faction symbols.”

“And you think this Starscream was on your side…?”

“More than just on my side, I believe… Ratchet said there was a bonding scar on his spark that wasn’t trine, but a mate bond. And his glance when he saw me…”

Optimus stared back, processor adding two and two together and not really liking the result. His frame froze, tensing up ever slightly and trying to hide it at the same time.

“You think… you believe… that he was your mate.”

“Well… my counterpart’s.” – Megatron growled uneasily, the subject not the least comfortable for him than it was for his mate – “he is – was? - no more me though, than you are that Optimus.”

“Megatron…” – Optimus stood and sat on the silver lap, straddling his bondmate’s thighs and lightly stroking the tense silver armour – “It changes nothing. Not with him, not with you and certainly not with what we have between us.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that.” – Megatron smirked at his mate, enjoying the attention even though neither of them had interfacing in their processors – “But this is why Starscream is trying to question him and not me. I’m not completely sparkless, you know?” 

A naughty smile drew Optimus’s lipplates and his digits caressed the strong armour over the spark chamber.

“That, I do know… better than any mech else.”

-o-o-o-

Starscream stood in front of the cell’s energon bars, watching his counterpart inside. Though the similarity itself was queer, there were still enough differences to consider the other as a different person. Especially how calm and… meek the other behaved, barely even lifting his optics to look at him. He heard the basics of what happened and who… this Seeker was and it was enough to feel a little pity for the mech…

“So… tell me about your world.”

“Why don’t you just…watch it?”

He offered a dataport so casually that Starscream automatically stepped back from the cell, wings shooting up nervously. He was deeply unnerved by the act, he must admit and tried to cover it with another sneer.

“Look… it is not an interrogation… we don’t go around hacking mechs on mere suspicion.”

The other Seeker looked surprised and his wings lifted in a different emotion.

“It’s not hacking if I offer it… right? Or your society has taboos about hardlining?”

“Pit, yes!” – Starscream couldn’t help but let his wings shake in disgust – “It is… intimate. And dangerous.”

“For us it is… well, it was normal to exchange information this way. Not for the Autobots, it’s true, they never trusted each other that much…” – he added ponderingly.

“These Autobots… give me an outline who and what they were.”

“They are abominations, monsters!” – it is the first time the Seeker lifted his voice and his optics flashed with real anger, and immediately he looked more similar to Starscream – it was not in his nature to be so… so unemotional.

“They destroyed Cybertron in their quest for glory and domination. Completely destroyed it!” – white wings trembled and blue servos tightened into fists – “Every mech, every town who didn’t yield and became obedient slaves to them. They just razed whole towns to the ground with no mercy to any who lived there!”

Starscream could hardly imagine such madness and even harder to take that it was _Optimus Prime_ who led those bots for such atrocities.

“But why?”

“I heard your world never had a war, right?”

“Well… we had several.” – Starscream paused, lifting his right wing in a shrug – “But I guess you mean an internal war. That, we never had.”

“Lucky universe…” – he whispered, optics suddenly dimming in sadness.

“But the Lord Prime saw others in his visions, with factions like yours who were warring. All, he said had himself and Lord Megatron as leaders of the warring factions, while here, they rule together. That might be the reason we have peace.”

“They rule together… and they are… more than just co-rulers, right?”

Starscream cocked his helm to the side and his red optics watched the other intently.

“They are bondmates. Why do you ask?”

The Seeker in the cell dipped his helm so his dark faceplates wouldn’t be visible and he didn’t answer so long that Starscream shifted outside. He watched the white wings dip low and hang there. When the other spoke up again it was so quiet and with an emotion-filled tone that Starscream had to dial up is audials to hear it. Skywarp was completely silent in the other cell, also getting the mood.

“We were bonded with Megatron. Optimus Prime wanted me even before the war, when he was more or less sane, but I never reciprocated his attentions. Then, when he won and destroyed our faction he took me as his slave. He… he tortured Megatron to death, broke our bond and didn’t let me deactivate ever since.” – he paused, looking up to Starscream, unmindful of the tears that slowly rolled down from his optics – “To see the two of them together… it is…” – he couldn’t finish the sentence.

“I’m… sorry.” – he really was. For all he didn’t like to have a… _copy_ of himself around, he couldn’t turn a blind optic to the mech’s broken sadness. 

“It is not your fault… if anything, it is mine.”

“How can any of it be your fault?”

“Before the war… I refused his advances. It was partly what pushed him over the edge. If only…”

Starscream bristled, wings lifting angrily. He knew that stupid argument and hated it.

“Don’t go there! It is stupid to blame yourself for a madmech’s actions”

“Yes, it is all Primus’s will what happens!”

The utterance was so unexpected that both their wings shot up and two nearly identical helms turned towards the newcomer with wide, incredulous optics. Sunstorm stood there, armour puffed up, wings flared and his pale faceplates conveying the religious fervour it soften did. Starscream groaned. He never really liked the High Priest when he was in one of his moods.

“Sure, it’s Primus’s will to break a bond. Really, Sunstorm, you are an aft.”

“Winglord! It is unwise to make a joke of Primus…”

“I’ve made a jab at you, Sunstorm, and the last I checked you were not Primus.”

“He certainly thinks so… fragging bright, you can’t even look at him…”

Starscream snickered at the tone with which the black and purple Seeker murmured his sneering comment at the golden Seeker. Sunstorm certainly made sure his plating was mirror-bright all times, truly hard to look at for long. In a complete opposite, the black Seeker looked almost elegant with his own, dark, sleek colouring and those nice wings… Starscream shook his helm and deliberately turned away. He was _not_ going to take any Seeker as trine-mate just because it was so in another universe!

“You… you… lowlife scum… shut up!” – the High Priest screeched almost as good as Starscream himself, he had to give the mech that much.

“Why should I? You are really garish. Like you wanna catch somemech…?”

Sunstorm’s pale face blushed a little but he was spluttering too much for it to be really seen.

“Your place is in the gutters, not in the palace! You have no right to speak to me thus…!”

“Now, now, Sunstorm. Behave yourself.” – Starscream had enough of the priest’s prejudice. Sunstorm was a bit too much obsessed by caste and birth. – “You have no business here, so please leave the prison block. The matter is certainly not religious.”

“Everything happens by Primus’s will!”

“Yes, maybe, but we have to deal with it. I doubt the dimension portal will close no matter how long you pray for it.”

Both Seekers in the cells snickered at the Priest’s shocked and indignant faceplates and the way he whirled and stormed out of the cell block. Straight after they laughed again at Starscream’s exasperated ex-vent. 

“Too bad he can’t be forbidden to go wherever he wants to…” – he said conspiratorially – “my job would certainly be easier then.”

Then he turned serious and sighed as he took the datapad from the other Seeker with a nod of thanks.

“Okay then. I’ll check this and the portal. I’ll try to arrange you some way to fly – you must feel uncomfortable by now.”

The Seeker in the cell nodded, his optics flickering towards the high-set, small window, a prerequisite to every cell housing a Seeker. It took him a few silent kliks before he could tear his glance from view of the clear sky with a little sigh.

“I haven’t flown for vorns. I can stand it a little while more…”

They both shuddered at that, unwilling to even just imagine what it would be like not flying for such a long time. Starscream stared at his counterpart disturbed and in disbelief and it took him a few breems to gather himself again.

“One more problem. We must keep this portal, this visiting from another universe in secret. You look different somewhat, but the colours and of course the designation give you away. Would you be willing to change them… and keep the whole thing under wraps?”

The Seeker looked up and Starscream saw a little hope blossoming in his dim optics.

“Of course… On occasions, I went by the alias of Skyraider and I believe I can answer to that if needed.” – he paused and looked up to Starscream with a little more life in those strange, blue optics – “Can I have some datapads about this world? If I am to stay here, I’d better learn about it.”

“Certainly.”

Starscream nodded to his counterpart, a bit more satisfied about the mech’s honesty and intentions and turned towards the other cell.

“You’ll come with me. Megatron informed me that you are a Vosian citizen, despite the circumstances you were found and therefore you are my charge for now.”

Skywarp nodded and tried, with very little success to hide his elation at that. On the minus side he was still stuck in this madhouse of a palace with its crazy mechs – on the plus side at least he was going to be with Seekers… and particularly ones he very much found to his liking, despite of their brusque manners. 

-o-o-o-

Less than a groon has gone and Starscream already regretted taking the black Seeker under his wings. The mech was rude and uncouth, – somewhat understandable, considering that he came from a very low caste – completely unable and unwilling to learn etiquette and manners and pranked every mech in the Palace once he saw that he wasn’t punished for it. Starscream at first let him do it, even enjoyed the fun and fresh air the black Seeker brought to the stiff and formal mood of the Palace – particularly when pain in the turbines Sunstorm got doused with ugly paints or stuck into glue, which caused many others chuckling behind his wings too… – and by the time he thought of curbing the flood of pranks, it was already too late and Skywarp felt comfortable enough to act and behave as he wanted. 

The mech had an uncanny sense as to whom he could prank without serious repercussions. The High Priest with his stuck-up demeanor was an obvious target, but Skywarp unerringly found those mechs in the Palace who were not universally liked, who were thought to be arrogant or contemptuous… or just gave very good reactions when trapped in a fun situation. All in all the black Seeker became popular by the simple fact of pranking those whom everymech thought to be deserving to be brought down a peg or two, just never dared to do it themselves. And Starscream himself, to his surprise found himself vehemently defending him from any who tried to remove him from the Palace or threaten him with a serious punishments.

He also proved to be useful once Starscream got him a teacher who didn’t want to force him to study academics, instead developed the unruly Seeker’s knowledge by practice and example. Thundercracker at first didn’t thank his trine leader to be saddled by the black Seeker, but after their first few arguments and a few false starts, he came to kind of like him – much to his own surprise too. After Skywarp managed to learn to teleport correctly and reliably most of the time the blue Seeker took him on his rounds too and they became friends, despite the glaring differences in their general makeup. 

When a few decaorns later Starscream refused Sunstorm’s courting offer – and he did it publicly too, causing a huge scene and Sunstorm almost loosing his control – mechs started to whisper about the black teleporter who became such a fixture of their lives so fast. That the trio of them interfaced regularly caused no surprise – all Seekers had healthy libidos and lively social lives with very few taboos – but the whispers picked up after Thundercracker started to train Skywarp in the air too. To fly with another Seeker, especially regularly was far more significant in Seeker society than any amount of interfacing. 

“H-harder!”

Skywarp snickered, but obediently enough he picked up the tempo. As much as Starscream liked to take it in the valve, submitting to him, he was damn demanding. Not that the black Seeker minded it – after all he got the Winglord, the Air Commander, the most important Seeker on the planet and off it under him on all fours, moaning as he pounded into his valve – while barely a vorn ago he was a starving outcast on the dirty streets of Kaon. Much as he tried to delete the night cycle in the Lords’ berthchamber from his memory banks, it truly changed his whole life, even beside the wealth he was quite shocked to find on his account after it happened.

Skywarp shifted a little, circled his hips and slammed back into the tight heat before leaning over the kneeling frame and grabbed the white wings, pulling Starscream back, onto his spike. The Winglord was nearly shrieking now, babbling incomprehensive words, which meant that he enjoyed the new angle and the renewed strength with which Skywarp was ramming into him. The black Seeker liked it too, the way Starscream’s valve undulated around his length, the other being much more practiced in this than himself.

“F-frag…! So tight…! So… good…! So… slutty… little Seeker!” 

He panted the words, long learned that Starscream didn’t mind the dirty talk while being faced. Black and white armour slammed together, purple servos tightened to near-denting grip on white wings and Skywarp groaned as his spike was clasped by tightening calipers that heralded Starscream’s release. He grunted and forced himself through, deeper, slamming into the back nodes, pushing the smaller frame forward even as he pulled it back at the same time. Starscream’s wings trembled, flared up in his servos and he threw his helm back, shrieking his climax in near deafening levels. 

The tightness was nearly painful around his spike and Skywarp snarled as he thrust once, twice more before release seized him too and he pumped the spasming valve full with his hot transfluid. Yelling his overload into the room’s lazy, steamy silence he nearly strutlessly fell onto the back of the other, both of them sagging to the ground in the haze of processors and whirl of overworked vents. Starscream grumbled a little and wriggled until he was less squashed by the heavier black Seeker, but even he couldn’t find it in himself to put real annoyance in his tone – he was far too much sated and pleased for it.

“TC will be here soon…”

Starscream groaned out the words with some effort, but his tone held a smirk at what he felt through the bond. Apparently he forgot to close it down again and his wingmate nearly produced an impromptu show in front of Lord Megatron, with whom he was discussing the security around the portal. Though Thundercracker tried to be unaffected and ignoring him, he failed spectacularly in it when the overload hit and he moaned out a sparkfelt groan that made Megatron laugh uproariously and dismiss him at once. 

“You glitch!”

Ahhh… here he was, big as life and twice as… horny. Try as the blue Seeker might he just couldn’t hold his wings up angrily when he saw the spectacle on the floor – they didn’t make it till the berth this time - and felt the lingering taste of overload in the bond, the smell of hot transfluid and energy discharge in the air. Starscream laughed, a throaty, sensual laugh that so few ever heard outside their room.

“Don’t be like that TC… join in, you seem to need some nookie yourself…”

“How not after you made me feel it all!”

Thundercracker’s voice was grumbling, but he readily got down to where Starscream lay sprawled and nudged the still only half conscious Skywarp to the side. The black Seeker pulled out, sloppily grinning at the splash of liquids and flopped to his back, limbs haphazardly thrown out, vents still working overtime. Starscream was only marginally more conscious but more than welcoming his wingmate who sighed deeply when his spike slid into the drenched, hot valve.

It didn’t take long for the blue Seeker, already halfway to climax, to reach completion; Starscream was helped along by Skywarp pulling him to his lap and playing with his wings. A few deft strokes, a little forceful tweaking of the flaps, a bite or two to the wingtips… and Starscream’s shrill voice joined to Thundercracker’s deeper roar that shook the room’s fixtures like an earthquake and let them all snuggle into a big, happy heap on the floor. Skywarp, more or less on the bottom of the heap gave silent thanks for luxurious, soft carpets.

“You know… you’re not half as bad as I first thought.”

Starscream’s sated, sleepy voice spoke up after they cooled down a bit and wriggled into somewhat more comfortable positions. His servo was petting the black wings and he smiled warmly. Skywarp grinned back, the last groon or so making him a lot more sure of himself both because of the training and the attention the wingmates lavished on him. These orns he even started to entertain the idea of being their third wing – though he still wasn’t sure how to go about that. 

“That’s not what TC says when we fly.”

“You have a lot to learn but that doesn’t mean you are bad.” – the blue Seeker interjected, lifting his helm to look somewhat more serious. – “You had bad instructors and…”

“… an attitude problem?” – Starscream whacked the black helm lightly.

“Well, that he still has.”

The sentiment should have been insulting, but they all laughed at the running joke.

“Admit it, you like me the way I am.” – Skywarp joined the laughs without being embarrassed or insulted too. – “And you like my pranks too.”

“Sure. I only hate Sunstorm’s complaints afterwards.”

“He still comes to you with those?”

“Well… Skywarp is still my charge nominally. Though he could go now, provided he keeps what happened quiet… would you like to go back, Warp?”

Skywarp lifted his helm and looked at them incredulously.

“Go back to… where? To Vos, where I’d be a low-caste nomech? To Kaon where I could be a military nomech with no hope for a trine ever?” – he paused, gnawing on his lipplates a little and trying to keep the insecurity out of his voice – “Do you… do you want me to go?”

“Pit no. You complement TC and me in the berth perfectly… and outside it too.” 

“I can even see what that other Starscream said about us being Trine.” – Thundercracker was far more serious than a mech barely past an overload should be, but then, the topic was serious too – “I know it is too soon, especially considering his caste, but… well.”

Starscream nodded but he didn’t confirm his agreement verbally. Should Skywarp ever gather the courage to announce courting and should he even consider accepting it – they would face some real serious criticism and not only from Sunstorm's corner. Such huge gaps in caste and rank just didn’t get bridged without a very good reason. He would tell TC later to nudge the black Seeker towards a bit more ambition, to gain at least some rank; his caste was a given, the dismissal from the Academy a bad mark on his records, so he should show something, some basis on which Starscream could accept the courting. 

After all, berth prowess alone didn’t really count.

 

-o-o-o-

Starscream, or as he went by these orns, Skyraider worked in the lab he was given, mostly hiding from the content, satisfied and mostly happy mechs who inhabited this palace, this whole world. He enjoyed being free and safe again, able to do whatever he wanted to, but the sadness was always there, the not-quite belonging feeling, that he couldn’t shake. Since the secret of his origins had to be kept, they created him a whole new background of being from a far away colony that mostly cut ties with Cybertron and was nearly independent. It explained his sudden appearance and not knowing most mechs in the palace, but it also set him apart from the others. 

It was a sentiment he felt naturally, inwardly always comparing the two worlds… and he couldn’t help but be envious for the way they had it, so easily, so peacefully… mechs he knew as monsters, as mortal enemies, as complete madmechs worked calmly and efficiently with those he had grieved for once, who were friends and colleagues… all of them destroyed by the Autobots. Of course they weren’t Autobots here, but Skyraider had to constantly remind himself of that fact, had to suppress his instinctual reaction to mechs like Ratchet, Prowl or Perceptor, whom he had to meet often. 

The medic was undoubtedly the worse, as the other two with their unemotional, factual demeanor was a bit easier to act normally around. But this world’s Ratchet was a grumpy, growling medic whose bedside manner seemingly consisted of threats and thrown wrenches… and Skyraider could never suppress the horrific memories tumbling up when hearing those threats. Since Ratchet insisted on regularly monitoring his scarred spark with the broken bond, worried about it greatly, he couldn’t even avoid the medic as much he would’ve wanted to. 

“Why do you insist seeing my spark every decaorn? It’s not like it changes any.”

“Well, allow me to worry about it. You shouldn’t even be alive with your spark in such a state. And stay on that berth or I’ll weld you there!”

Skyraider froze at that, the jag of fear flashing through him making his wings rattle on the berth. His spark seemingly tripped and of course the monitor has picked it up.

“What was that?”

Ratchet turned his helm from the monitor towards the berth, where the Seeker lay. 

“Are you feeling something? Hurt, pain?”

“Ratchet, for Pit’s sake, he’s terrified of _you_!”

The deep voice shocked them both to turning towards the door, where a silver mech stood, just inside the med bay.

“Megatron.” – Ratchet nodded towards the Lord High Protector – “What do you mean… ohh.”

“I’m not!” – Skyraider hissed indignantly, embarrassed beyond belief and the spark monitor bipped again to signal another hiccup – “It’s just… nothing. Memories. That’s all.”

“Ohh… why didn’t you tell me before…”

“For a superb medic, you are really dense sometimes, Ratchet.”

“Well, I’m a medic, not a shrink. I gladly let Rung deal with such issues.”

“But surely there is another medic with whom you are more comfortable with?”

Megatron looked to the Seeker with a questioning glance. Skyraider sat up stiffly, wings held unmoving and in a neutral position. He mulled for a few kliks over the question and nodded.

“Knockout or Hook? I haven’t seen them, but they were… on our side.”

“Never heard of either and I know the best professionals in my field.” – Ratchet shrugged after a klik’s worth of thinking.

“Ohhh…”

Megatron looked surprised.

“Hook, as in the one from the Constructicon gestalt? Is he a medic too?”

“Medic, my aft… he might repair stuff, but he is no medic.”

“We can look this Knockout up, but in the meanwhile I’d let somemech else do these checkups. Someone he doesn’t know at all.”

Ratchet didn’t look happy at that, which made Skyraider unobtrusively inch away from him, but he nodded.

“Rescan can do it and bring me the results. He can keep secrets. But if there is anything, and I mean anything painful or unusual with your spark I want to see you! Rescan is not a specialist.”

Skyraider nodded, inwardly wowing not to have a reason to come to Ratchet ever again. If he could help it.

“Now, if you have nothing particular to do here…” – the medic glanced questioningly to Megatron – “… then you can both go and leave me to my work.”

“We won’t disturb your medbay any more, medic.”

Megatron’s deep laugh rolled around the walls and Skyraider gladly – _helplessly_ \- immersed himself in the long-heard sound of it, wings vibrating wishfully. A little sigh left his lipplates and he shook himself, trying to collect his wits. It was a useless wish to hear and see this Megatron more… and he wasn’t the same anyway, the Seeker tried to convince himself. But in truth it hurt to see the mech, and no matter the differences, his spark certainly thought them the same. 

As they left the medbay, Skyraider turned to go back to his little lab with a parting nod to the Lord High Protector… and nearly startled when that black servo touched his arm, almost tentatively…

“I actually came to talk with you a bit… Starscream.”

“That is not my designation here…” – _but how good it was to hear it from those lipplates!_ – “Is there something you wish to know… My Lord?”

“No need for titles… or formality. Come with me. I just wanted to see if you were all right here.”

It was clear to Starscream that Megatron was just as uncomfortable in the situation as himself – if no more. Small talk and emotional comforting was not his forte in either universes apparently and here he was far more of a warrior than _his_ … Starscream ruthlessly shut down that thread in his processor and nodded to the Lord High Protector, forcing his wings to be neutral and not revealing his emotions. Of this he had ample practice around Optimus Prime. The other one, though this one unnerved him as well.

“I am… grateful for being allowed to stay here.”

Megatron waved irritated in the air as they started to go down the corridor, towards the Lords’ chambers. Starscream followed him hesitantly, cautious still, afraid to let his emotions revel in the presence of … _Megatron_. The mech who looked like, felt like… but who wasn’t his mate. Unfortunately he had to remind himself of that fact with increasing frequency as his rebellious spark didn’t seem to care about dimensional travel… or even realities.

“None of that slag. Of course you can stay, it is nothing to be thankful for. I meant how you cope with being here.”

“It is hard with some mechs… as you could see with Ratchet. But they mostly leave me alone and I’m all right with that.”

They arrived to the chamber and Starscream was shown to a sitting area and offered high grade. This he accepted gratefully, as it calmed his nerves somewhat. He needed it now, being alone with Megatron. 

“That’s what Starscream told me. You isolate yourself and avoid mechs.”

Megatron frowned a little. It truly was not his job or expertise to make mechs feel welcomed – but in the situation he agreed with his Air Commander that he was the best mech to try and help their guest to fit in better. Of course it all had the undertones of what they weren’t talking about, but it couldn’t be helped. Starscream… this Starscream have to come to terms with Megatron being a different mech from his dead mate. 

“I’m sorry… I’ll try to get out a bit more. I thought it was… all right to hide myself, considering that I have no background here.” 

Starscream gripped the cube with a bit more force than necessary and bit his glossa before he said anything that would land him in a prison again. Long experience taught him to be vary of any disapproval or criticism… far too many was followed by pain and punishment. 

“That’s not what I meant…! Slag! It’s not an order. And I know you have reason aplenty to avoid those who were… those Autobots there, but surely there are some you’d be comfortable around…?”

Starscream gulped down the high grade and put down the elegant cube before he would break the crystal in his grip. He didn’t particularly wanted to answer that… but Megatron expected it and… well, he deserved an answer.

“Those whom I knew are deactivated there. I mourned them and remember them… I can’t really face mechs I know to be dead and tear all the barely scabbed wounds open again…”

“Mechs like myself.”

Starscream nodded, feeling wretched. It was beyond agony now as his memories have broken out from where he tried to bury them and superimposed themselves on the mech sitting opposite to him. The elegant silver armour lightened to nearly white, the red optics bled to blue, the lines and shapes wavered, twisted, changed… he shook his helm, violently dislodging the vision, ruthlessly reminding himself that no, this Megatron was still not the one…

“What was he like?”

The question should have hurt, but it miraculously didn’t. It doused Starscream’s feverish thoughts and focused them. Memories came tumbling and for once they didn’t hurt. It was beyond queer but he coped, like always. Still avoiding to look at the Lord High Protector he started to speak.

“Not like you… he wasn’t born a warrior. We were both scientists. He, a mathematician…” – Megatron lifted an incredulous brow plate but didn’t speak up – “… turned to a freedom fighter, because…, well, mainly because no mech else believed him when he told that Optimus Prime was building an army, taking over and grabbing the power from the Senate. I didn’t believe him at first either. Didn’t think Orion capable of such atrocities Megatron projected of him…. Not until he destroyed Chrystal City…”

Starscream’s voice faded to almost nothing as he whispered the last words, remembering those fateful, last orns of his innocence.

“I joined him afterwards, offering whatever I could do to stop Optimus Prime. Neither of us were warriors really, not at first. But he was the same kind of leader you seem to be too. I would have followed him to the Pit and back and did sometimes. He had this charisma, this quality that made mechs follow him…”

His voice broke, unable to vocalize the rest of his thoughts. Huddling forward Starscream keened softly as remembrance turned to the pain of loss again. Only this time there was a servo, a familiar weight on his shoulder, a large frame that sat beside him and it was all too easy to turn towards him and burrow into the embrace that was hesitant and somewhat stiff… but the closer he was the more he felt that spark that his own called out for. He couldn’t deny it any more, not from this close, not when his defences were broken down and memories flooded him freely.

The spark still wasn’t _his mate_ , but it was close enough to feel like a good enough substitute, a touch of warmth to ease the pain. He would take it as far as it was offered, be thankful for this little cheat on death and loss, be glad that Megatron, despite of being bonded with another still gave him this little comfort. 

“We can’t spark-merge.”

“I know.” – no matter how he ached to do so, he knew it was impossible.

“Optimus _is_ my bondmate.” 

The voice was firm, but the strong arms remained around him and Starscream’s wings fluttered happily as his spark felt the closeness of the other it considered its mate. But he heard the slightest of warnings threading into the sentence too.

“I never wanted to come between the two of you!”

It hurt to say, but it was true. Starscream didn’t want to threaten his existence here, the freedom he had and he was still terrified enough of Optimus Prime to never make a single inappropriate move towards the Lord High Protector. He kept to his lab, he kept to himself and even denied his spark tripping a little when he saw the silver mech from afar. Until this time he was successful and even now it was Megatron coming to him that undone his heroic efforts. This he couldn’t refuse, not when the comfort was offered.

“Optimus knows.” – he heard the deep voice over him, rolling through him and froze a little at what it said – “He knows and approves… as far as our sparks don’t touch. I must ask… is this enough or the restriction makes it worse? Because then we should stop right now.”

Starscream actually stopped himself from immersing himself in the closeness to think about that. It was a minor shock to hear that Optimus Prime actually approved his bondmate to have an… affair? He wasn’t sure what to call it if it ever happened... with an outsider. But then, this Prime didn’t have a twisted, cruel Matrix stuck into his chest and delusions of grandeur in his processor… he was different from the one Starscream knew and feared.

That his spark could never be whole again, he had already resigned to when he was forced to watch Megatron die. That hope flamed up again for barely a breem when he saw this world… and died again a bitter death as he learned of the bond between the rulers of the planet. But even this closeness was more than the emptiness in his spark alone with its pain… so he would take what was offered. Nothing could hurt him more that before.

“No…” – he whispered – “I don’t want to stop.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I use the designations Skyraider and Starscream alternately for SG!Starscream – it is intentional. He still thinks of himself as Starscream, but for others he wears the designation Skyraider (which in itself is a cameo from my other fic, Seekers, where he gets this too). So the use of the designations signals how he thinks of himself in the situation. I also wanted to completely avoid the way we sometimes use the names in cross-verse stories; ‘SG!Starscream’ is not the way they would think, since the universes only have these labels in the stories. For them their universe has no name to set apart from others. I know it is more difficult like this and likely to confuse readers – but in the situation some confusion is natural and they too had to deal with it.


	16. Optimus Prime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a very bad case of writer's block this last month, that's why this chapter is so late. But at least it wraps up this fic. :-)

At first it was almost funny to watch them. It wasn’t often that his brother got hesitant, uneasy or bemused and Optimus Prime chuckled quietly as he watched him interact with the Seeker. It was almost adorable – though he knew that Megatron would cheerfully strangle him if he ever heard that adjective applied to him – to see him fumble hesitantly, like an inexperienced novice… which he most certainly wasn’t. But all too soon the depth of the emotions from Starscream, this Starscream changed the mood to something far more serious and the naughty smirk melted down from his lipplates as he sat in front of the screen in his office. 

Megatron knew about it of course, they had discussed the situation before he sought out the Seeker and agreed just what they should do… or shouldn’t. Megatron wanted to offer comfort to Starscream, Optimus himself felt a little guilt over his counterpart’s actions, so he wanted it too – but they knew that his presence would still make the Seeker fearful and tense. It wasn’t all that often that any of them took a lover separately, but in this special case, Optimus was perfectly willing to let Megatron deal with Starscream in whatever way he wanted to. 

It was clear that the Seeker was so much in love with his brother that it was almost uncomfortable to watch. But he was also deeply afraid, insecure and didn’t allow himself to fully hope or trust any mech, not even Megatron. His touches were feather-light, hesitant and when Megatron started to caress the wings the tremors in that too light frame were not all from pleasure. He had no scars now, Ratchet was a better medic than leave such marks… but they both had seen what the white paint hid underneath, on the bare metal. Such memories don’t fade soon. 

Megatron felt it too. He was gentle, far more so than ever in his life, making no move, no touch, no caress that could be perceived as forcing or hurting. Talons retracted, his digits stroked the white metal gently, carefully until the shivering went away and the wings opened up a little, flaring out to seek his touch. An eager mouth sought his own and he kissed back, enjoying the pliant lipplates and the tentative strokes of the glossa. Starscream moaned deeply into the kiss, his fear growing less and less by this time. 

But when Megatron moved to settle him down on the berth it flared up again. Suddenly stiff frame and slight trembles running through it told Megatron what wasn’t said aloud and he pulled the Seeker up, settling him above, so he wouldn’t be squashed. Starscream let him move them around and straddled his hips, servos lightly leaning on his chest and tried gamely to regain the lustful mood.

“I’m sorry… it’s just…”

“Memories. I understand. Whatever position makes you comfortable…”

Megatron held the Seeker by the slender, red hips and waited, stroking a seam lightly until the tenseness disappeared again. It was harder and harder to hold himself back, as Starscream awakened all sorts of pleasurable sensations in him, but he wasn’t going to frighten him away. But it was getting really hot and tight under his panel, on which Starscream perched and for himself as well as for the Seeker he hoped that it wouldn’t take long for him to get back to the mood. 

Of course, if that… _other_ Megatron wasn’t a warrior – which was still extremely hard to imagine – then his normal way of interfacing might be too much for the Seeker anyway. But before he could take that thought any further, the claws on his chest plate slid and plucked underneath the armour and Starscream’s expressive wings fluttered behind him – and Megatron’s optics smouldered again with his desire. Then the slender hips moved and rubbed onto his interface panel and lubricant oozed on a shiny path from the red plate onto his own hot, silvery one, to evaporate there quickly.

Starscream moaned and his panel snapped open, more lubricant sliding out and Megatron couldn’t, wouldn’t wait any longer. His spike nearly sprang free and his groan had a quality of impatient relief too as he smeared the slick lubricant over its length. Some heroic measure of caution held him from thrusting up into that slick heat straight away, but it was a close thing and his servos tightened on the Seeker’s hips. 

But Starscream was apparently firmly decided now in his wants and needs and lowered himself slowly onto the straining spike, enveloping it with that nearly too tight heat… their moans entwined in the silence of the room as he determinedly pressed downwards until he took all the length. It was something Megatron has always admired in Seekers – for their apparent slenderness and tight valves, they could take such large spikes without preparation that seemed nearly impossible without any damage or pain. 

But it was getting harder and harder to think as Starscream sank down and enveloped him with a slight fluttering of the calipers that played havoc with his spike sensors and made him want to turn them around and bang the Seeker with all he got… which, he reminded himself a little dazedly would be a very bad idea and he only bucked up a little, to signal Starscream to move at will and congratulated himself on admirable restraint. From the bond, Optimus’s slight amusement sneaked through and Megatron sent back a little snap at the cheeky voyeur – but then his thoughts were derailed again as Starscream rose up and slammed down with some force, making him moan deeply.

He wasn’t used to giving over the initiative and let any partner dictate the tempo, but there was something in the apparent abandon Starscream was riding his spike, in the nearly desperate intensity with which his calipers gripped him, the slight pricks of his claws that held onto his plating… it was deeply arousing and highly sensual. But it was also a little humbling, how Starscream, _this_ hurt, abused, tortured Starscream decided to trust him, a virtual stranger to not to harm him. 

“You’re… no stranger… to me…” – Starscream panted out the words as he rode Megatron’s spike without a break and didn’t miss the surprised flash of the red optics either – “Your thoughts… are quite… apparent.”

“I… guess it is so…” – he, too felt that queer little thread of connection that undeniably existed between their sparks. What it was, Megatron had no idea, maybe an echo of another world’s bond, but it was enough for Starscream to trust him. It would be a problem with Optimus though, he suspected.

“Ahh…” – the Seeker didn’t let him wander away in thoughts and the rhythm he made with his calipers drove him again to the heights of passion, waving away the coherent thoughts and immersed him into their joining. – “frag…”

Throaty laugh answered him and in this klik, Starscream looked queerly his counterpart here – gone was the timid shyness, the hesitancy, the everpresent quiet despair and he was as much of the Air Commander, the proud, sensual and self-assured Starscream as he could be. Then the slender frame slammed down with surprising strength for the last time and the tightness became nearly painful around him; and Megatron growled as he bucked up, among the fluttering calipers, into the slick heat as Starscream shrieked his overload into the silence of the room. Thrusting up once, twice more Megatron also let it go and shouted as his transfluid erupted into the tight valve and Starscream overloaded again, slumping onto his frame in a tired, sated bliss. 

Fighting through his own hazy processor, Megatron embraced the smaller frame laying on top of him and stroked the wings that also hung limp from his back. Starscream murmured something into his throat cables that he didn’t quite catch but generally the Seeker seemed comfortable and content where he was. Truth to be told, Megatron felt quite comfy as well – especially with the Seeker still occasionally tightening around his spike. 

::you looked good together… brother.::

Of course Optimus had to break his lazy, content nap.

::voyeur.::

The laugh came through the link as clearly as Optimus was standing beside them, its easy, good-humoured quality soothing.

::too bad he wouldn’t want me around. I had to take myself in servo while watching him ride you::

::Poor Optimus…:: - his inner voice was mocking - ::need another Seeker so soon?::

::Not just another.:: - Optimus was serious in a way he rarely was with his brother - ::This one.::

::That won’t happen soon… if ever and you know that.::

::I do…::

::Why him, why now, all of a sudden?:: - he wasn’t jealous, no. Not yet. But it was strange to see his brother yearn so much for any mech. - ::Our Starscream has never caught your optics like this.::

::I’m not sure. But he’s not like our Starscream either. There is something… I don’t know what is it that draws me.::

Okay, now he was starting to feel twinges of what might be jealousy. Megatron didn’t answer and in the silence of their bond strange, previously unknown emotions started to form.

::Not like that! I love you forever and you must to feel that! But he is special to you too, I know.::

Megatron stubbornly stayed silent. Yes, he felt his brother’s love and it reassured him greatly. Yes, Starscream was something special, something more than just an interface, a romp or a charity case. Why, he didn’t know either, nor was he going to admit it any time soon. 

::We **will** talk about it again.::

 

-o-o-o-

 

Optimus Prime scowled, his displeasure rumbling through the room in a deep, nearly subsonic growl. Prowl straightened stiffly, doorwings disappearing behind him as he suddenly wrapped up the presentation and begged to be allowed to leave. The rest of the officers watched the leaving Praxian with varying amount of suspicion – their sensors apparently hasn’t picked up the Prime’s worsening mood. Only Jazz heard it as well… but the mad spy dared even the Prime’s wrath… and was among the few lucky ones who regularly lived to tell the tale. Prowl saw him sit up and watch eagerly, probably curious as to who would be the target of that terrible anger, now that his pet was not around to suffer and assuage it. The Praxian wasn’t nearly as curious as the silver mech. He would know it soon enough, from the medical reports if not any other ways. 

As the doorwinged mech left the meeting he just saw from the corner of his optics as the Prime kicked the chair from under him with a force to make it shatter on the wall behind and many of the Autobot High Command jumped to their pedes in sudden frights of various measures. Prowl congratulated to himself that he was already outside when the large servo lifted Wheeljack into the air by the neck and he was not in the very least interested in what Optimus Prime wanted or demanded from the scientist. Starscream should be back by this time and that he wasn’t proved clearly that something had gone wrong.

The tactician scowled deeply. He was against sending the former Decepticon into that other universe, it was a plan with far too many variables and weak points – but he didn’t dare to say it outright to his Lord. Prowl prided himself on being able to predict just how much he could suggest to Optimus Prime… and when to stop and shut up. But he had to pick up the pieces when plans went wrong, rare as they were these orns. There weren’t all that many Decepticons left alive whom they could send into the portal and expect the slave codes to force them to come back and Prowl made his way towards the cells to see how many he could still choose from.

Behind him mechs scattered and escaped from their Lord’s wrath, the unlucky one – Rodimus this time – hung from his servo limply, jerking with the force of the blows. The doors closed on the last of them, leaving them alone in the chamber among the scattered furniture. Optimus Prime snarled a heavy curse and Rodimus’s obnoxiously coloured frame sailed through the air to crash into a wall heavily. He had no patience for the fool now, not really. He wanted his Seeker back, to play with and enjoy… not this stupid substitute, no matter he had wings to shred and enjoy the screams.

Prowl’s suggestion had merit, and they simply needed more information about that world before swarming through the portal – it was too small for that anyway. The visions were scant and hazy, but they showed a strong world, one his squabbling, backstabbing Autobots, always at the edge of an internal war would be hard put to conquer. He needed a plan to do it properly and for that he needed more data. He scowled angrily at the groaning mech by the wall, kicked him for the last time and let the servants drag him out. 

Prowl got back after a joor and received permission to enter from the somewhat calmer, but still fuming Optimus Prime. The Praxian dragged a chained, whimpering frame with him, the original colours and form of the mech long unrecognizable and dropped it unceremoniously to the floor between them. The mech was far too weak and damaged even to crawl away.

“Who is this?” – the Prime growled, lips curling in a sneer.

By the time Prowl finished explaining what he had in mind, the sneer was nearly transformed to smiling. Typically Prowl-like, insidious, sneaky and disgusting plan. 

Perfect.

 

-o-o-o-

Starscream stretched luxuriously, flexing his limbs every which way to shake off the stiffness of being too long in one position – however nice that position was in the Lord High Protector’s embrace, after some stellar interfacing for most of the evening. They had met once every decaorn now and Starscream wasn’t embarrassed to admit that he was very much looking forward to these evenings and lately night cycles too. For the court and the Palace he played the timid scientist, Skyraider and it wasn’t even an act, for he loved to be back into a lab and tinker to his spark’s content; but with Megatron, he could be _Starscream_ and make himself believe that the silver mech was his lost and found mate. Even though he wasn’t as he was reminded every time Optimus Prime turned up around them. 

The Prime was… strange and queer and still bringing up unwanted memories. But even without those, he was totally unlike Starscream expected him to be. Easily as strong and as much a warrior like his counterpart, but he had none of the chaotic and sadistic tendencies that the other displayed. Starscream tried to do a little research about the Matrix, which he guessed was the main difference between the two, but the High Priest was unexpectedly cold with him and unwilling to be forthcoming with information.

But Starscream was still nearly sure of his theory. Orion… while he used to be still just Orion Pax, he hadn’t been mad and twisted. Sure, he used to have grandiose ideas and sometimes felt a bit too ambitious, but then, he wasn’t a scientist like the Seeker and Starscream wouldn’t blame any mech for wanting to be famous or influential. In fact he wasn’t all that different from this world’s Orion Pax… no, it was, it had to be that Matrix that changed, twisted and corrupted him forever.

And it was different here. The Matrix here didn’t demand chaos and destruction, others’ pain and suffering for a select few elites’ sumptuous life. 

“A credit for your thoughts.”

Starscream’s helm snapped up so fast the cables almost strained at the sudden movement. The voice wasn’t Megatron’s deep bass and didn’t come from the still slumbering silver mech beside him. His processor identified it even before coming to the end of the previous thought: Optimus Prime. The Lord Prime never disturbed them when they were together, but sometimes he did turn up when Starscream was just talking with the Lord High Protector. Never pressing, never presuming, but a little too much like lurking around for Starscream’s taste. 

Not that he’d ever say so. He was not afraid of the Prime any more… well, not when he could consciously think about it. The big mech was almost painfully polite and careful not to make any aggressive or threatening move around him and occasionally Starscream caught how uncomfortable he felt about the situation. But it still hardly helped when he came without the Seeker noticing him, surprisingly silent for such a large mech and caused a small stab of fear flashing through his spark. 

“I was thinking about the Matrix…” – he blurted out without thinking, cursing himself as soon as the words left his mouth.

The Prime lifted an optical ridge and sat beside the berth, apparently not in the least disturbed by the obvious signs of their interfacing and Starscream was relieved to see not angered by the impolite question either.

“In what context?”

“That _he_ had one too.” – The naked hatred hissing in his tone told clearly whom he meant – “…and that it was what corrupted him. Before it… he wasn’t all that different from what Megatron says you were when younger.”

Optimus Prime leaned back in the armchair and silently watched Starscream, measuring, weighing what he said.

“What was it like?”

“Dark. Chaotic. Cruel. It fed on his spark and regurgitated hate. It fed on mine too when we… when he merged to my spark.” – Starscream paused, the scientist in him completely in charge, pushing emotions into the background – “Its energies, its frequency is the opposite of yours… well, if the Temple records are in any way trustworthy.”

“You say this like it is alive.” – Optimus was actually amazed. Not even Megatron, not even Sunstorm believed him when he said that the Matrix was, in a queer way for sure, but alive, speaking to him, teaching, helping… it wasn’t a supercomputer or a dumb artefact like many believed it to be.

“I’m fairly sure of it. I’m no expert on Gods, but as a scientist I would term the Matrix as a… symbiote if I want to put it nicely.” – he paused and continued more quietly, with a nervous glance to the Prime – “…or a parasite if I don’t.”

Starscream wasn’t sure where he got the daring to speak to Optimus Prime in such manner. Maybe it was Megatron’s quiet assurance behind him, the silver mech now online but letting them speak? But no matter where it came from, he was glad that the Lord Prime was willing to discuss the subject and didn’t refuse him like the priests.

“That might be an accurate definition… scientifically speaking of course.”

He was glad to hear the smile in the truckformer’s voice too. But he got no time for an answer, because an alarm started to wail, one he made sure to carry with him all the time, but hoped never to hear and Starscream was on his pedes at once, face a mask of horror and fear…

“The portal opened!”

They ran.

The room where the portal opened was by this time heavily secured and monitored in every manner that Red Alert could think of and a well-trained guard stood in front of the door – but Starscream’s little device registered the energies that let the gateway work and therefore alerted them before anything could register on the monitors. Still, they weren’t even halfway when the Security Director started shouting in their comms and ordered the guard in. Megatron scowled and he was transforming, the heavy flier that he was still faster than running on pedes. Starscream followed suit, after a nervous glance at the Prime whom they left behind.

The jets thundered down the corridors, scattering a small group of mechs who stared after them dumbstruck and clipping their wings in a few corners… but they were there in a matter of kliks while Optimus Prime was still barely halfway. Inside, the guard trained his weapon on a battered-looking figure inside the security field that encircled the gate and trapped him in its field. He was visibly relieved to see his superiors though. 

“No…!” – Starscream choked out, seeing the mech and his condition, his own wings starting to tremble again in remembered pain.

“Who is he?” – Megatron started to move closer, but Starscream grabbed his arm. 

“Don’t go close… please! It has to be a trap.”

“Why do you think so?”

“Prowl would realize that I didn’t return for too long. Either captured or dead, he probably thinks that the portal is discovered on this end. Otherwise he’d’ve sent an… Autobot.”

The mech, caught in the field groaned and tried to stand, but his limbs were so much damaged that he fell back. Megatron wasn’t sure what the wretched thing saw, if he could, but he didn’t look very much cognizant of his surroundings.

“So what do we do then?”

“He is either rigged to self-destruct…” – Starscream shuddered at the idea but went on – “… or something even nastier. He should be scanned, searched, but it should not be you… my Lord.”

“I can do that.”

The guard surprised them both by speaking up – not many common mechs dared to do that when faced with the Lord High Protector but his offering was logical and Megatron nodded, scowling just a little in annoyance that he had to stay in the background. But this way at least he could shield the Seeker. 

But when the field was deactivated and the guard started to cautiously approach the still writhing mech on the floor, the door slid open again and Optimus Prime arrived at last. It was unfortunate that the portal was closer to him and the Prime, not hearing their conversation before, acted as it was normal from him. Leaning down before either Megatron or Starscream could utter a warning he gently lifted the injured mech up.

“Prime, no!”

“Optimus, don’t!”

Both their warnings were late. The mech groaned again and they both started to slide towards the portal, like an invisible force drew them in. They tangled and the Prime fell over the smaller mech, straight into the open portal – which flashed silently and swallowed them up just as Megatron arrived there, roaring in anger but unable to do anything, a huge fist thudding heavily on the uncaring, unyielding metal of the portal.

“How do you open this thing? Quickly!”

Starscream slid to a halt beside him, his digits tapping on a small control panel.

“There will be a few breems before I can open it again. It needs cycling between trips!” – he added, seeing the Lord High Protector’s anger and flinching back from it.

Megatron was fuming and cursing and his field was bad enough to send not only the Seeker but the guardsmech too cowering from it. He not only failed to deal with the mech from that other verse, but also couldn’t protect his brother-bondmate, who was now probably in his evil counterpart’s servos, suffering who knew what fate. Black servos tightened into fists until energon dripped from claw-marks and his growl shook the room.

But they couldn’t do anything else but wait.

“How long…?” – he hissed half a breem later that felt like an eternity nothing in his tone now showing the softer emotions he felt towards the Seeker.

“Thirteen kliks now, my Lord.”

Starscream’s wings were low and behind him, the Seeker obviously fearing punishment if anything happened to Optimus Prime and it cleared Megatron’s fuming, furious processor a little. It wasn’t the Seeker’s fault of course, and though he needed something to take his anger out on while he could do nothing, it shouldn’t be _him_.

Finally, a small, red light flickered on the control panel and Starscream lifted his helm.

“Any klik now, my Lord…” – he said nervously.

“Stand aside.” – Megatron ordered him in a stern tone, but it was not blaming him any more – focused for a possible fight the Lord High Protector’s huge frame was in full battle mode now, his processor also geared toward the possibilities that awaited through the portal.

But when the light flashed silently off and Starscream nervously waved towards the portal it wasn’t Megatron who went through first. The portal irised open and a large, red-blue frame jumped through, tumbling and turning, lifting a huge blaster that Starscream never saw in his servos. Without hesitation he shot the portal and continued shooting it as the first salvo was ineffective. Megatron, after a nanoklik of surprise joined him, adding his even bigger firepower to the effort – the must have connected through the bond, Starscream thought, or the Lord Protector trusted his bondmate’s judgement implicitly. Both were equally likely.

He himself jumped aside when the fireworks started and was more or less hiding from the debris that started to fly around as the concentrated firepower from the two powerful mechs slowly demolished his portal. Not that he was complaining of his work being ruined. The less he saw from his own universe the happier he was and while the gateway existed, the danger was there too. Let them destroy completely, if they could... in fact…

“If anyone has some grenades, now would be a great time to send one through.” – he interjected when there was a tiny break in the sound of shooting, seeing the little red light that miraculously hasn’t been damaged yet flash. He wasn’t sure whether the portal would still work, but an explosion inside the transport field would surely disrupt the connection between the universes. 

Noone answered him, but the guard wordlessly passed a few nasty-looking objects to Lord Megatron, who primed them and without much ado chucked them into the disintegrating portal. He hasn’t even stopped firing in the meanwhile.

Then a roaring growl erupted from the portal and somemech, Starscream wasn’t sure who, shouted _down!_ and they all ducked. The portal exploded most satisfyingly, showering melting and sparking pieces all over them and Starscream hissed as shrapnel, many of them, lodged themselves into his wings and his audials reset after the concussive boom rolled over the room, making even sturdy structure groan and some of the wall panels bend. The door flew out to the corridor and Starscream is sure he heard cursing from the outside with his slowly resetting audios. 

If he survived it, the larger, better armoured mech must have too. Starscream hardly lifted his helm when Lord Megatron was already on his pedes and pulled the Lord Prime up to stand too. The falling of debris has stopped, the explosion that flattened them seemingly destroyed the portal – where it used to stand now there is only a melted, charred lump of slag, all that remained the contraption. 

“So. What the frag have you done this time?”

It was the medic and there was a slightly crazy laugh that bubbled up from Starscream’s vocalizer at the old mech’s grumpy voice.

“I want to hear it too, Optimus.”

Megatron was perfectly willing to go along his mate while there was no time to confer, but now he, too wanted to know what happened. Optimus Prime stood up fully and Starscream noticed a few dents and wounds on him that definitely weren’t caused by the explosion. He also held his left servo hidden, something tucked into it…

“We were pulled through...” – he started, a scowl visible even with the mask - “…and they were waiting for us. That… Prime is a madmech really. The rest is the same, but he…”

Optimus stopped and shuddered, the strain of seeing _himself_ in that mirror of the other mech obviously taking its toll on him. Megatron silently moved over, to embrace his shoulder in support and the Prime continued to speak.

“He called me weak.” – Optimus Prime snorted, indignation surpassing his unease – “I showed him _weak_!”

Meagtron’s lipplates twitched in a companionable smirk. Here, not many mechs made that mistaken supposition any more. His brother was more than a capable warrior and though he needed to fight extremely rarely, it was still known. Apparently not in the universe next over.

“He was also slagging overconfident. Didn’t take long to take him down a notch. Or eight.”

He finally lifted the blue servo and Starscream recognized the object in it. Dripping energon, dented and scored… but the spark chamber that held the dark Matrix was unmistakable – and unmistakably dead. His optics widened as they took it in, as his processor realized what it meant…

“He deserved it.” – Starscream snarled when he saw a twitch of unease on the Prime’s faceplates – “don’t you dare to feel remorse for killing that monster!”

“I had to defend myself… he wasn’t interested in talking. And I thought better not to leave… _this_ for them. Those mechs are… bad enough without this.”

Though the spark chamber was dark, it wasn’t empty. Starscream shuddered remembering the twisted, dark, cruel thing in it and almost unconsciously he took several steps backwards, claws curling over his cockpit, his spark protectively.

“Destroy it!”

“I tend to agree. There is such… malice coming from it…”

Optimus Prime’s faceplates twisted into a disgusted mask and he held the metallic box away from himself. Megatron didn’t hesitate to take it and seal the open side up by crumbling up the whole thing. Starscream noted that the Prime didn’t object at all, in fact he looked relieved to be rid of the artefact and the spark chamber identical to his own.

“How can it be destroyed?”

The Lord High Protector was a practical mech.

“I don’t think there was any research to that, ever.”

“Then it is high time somemech did it.”

“Well, we never had a surplus Matrix.” – the nonchalance was forced but no mech mentioned it to the Prime.

“And we won’t have one for long either.”

Starscream decided that he liked the idea.

-o-o-o-

 

In a far-away universe mechs realized what happened and started to fight for power, for leadership, for rule. Factions formed and alliances, fought, schemed, allied again, then broke up to fight with each other until none remained, neither guilty, nor innocent and the ruined, gutted planet sank into darkness and unmoving, rusting stupor. The rest of the galaxy tried to forget their madness and went on living.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I wrote the chapter, I had Sideswipe in mind for the bait-mech and a small side-story for him - but in the end I decided to go with an unnamed mech instead, as the story didn't come out very interesting and it wasn't necessary to name the mech.


End file.
